


Flowers Don't Grow on Battlefields

by CoffeeJay, KAi_Sage



Series: Flowers [1]
Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alcohol, Angst, Awkward Allies to Friends, Blood and Injury, Bombs, Christmas, Comedy, Death, Flowers, Gen, Implied/Referenced Abuse, M/M, Mildly Historical Hetalia, Our boys are engaged in the biggest slowburn in history, Personal headcanons liberally sprinkled throughout, Smoking, Stranded, Wild Disregard for Gun Safety, World War II
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-31
Updated: 2018-12-07
Packaged: 2019-04-16 00:52:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 31
Words: 100,808
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14153106
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CoffeeJay/pseuds/CoffeeJay, https://archiveofourown.org/users/KAi_Sage/pseuds/KAi_Sage
Summary: As war tightens its hold on the nations of the world, new alliances are formed.  Nobody will escape the war unscathed.  Italy only hopes that this time, he will find a way to save those he holds dearest.





	1. The Nymph and the Sun God

**Author's Note:**

> This is a massive WIP that's been in the works for well over a year now. Ideally, it will end after the Cold War, and will likely be close to 100k words in length by the time we're through with it. We're working on it! Feedback is much appreciated. -Jay  
> UPDATE: Part 1 is complete! Look for part 2 as next in the series!

The phone slammed back onto the hook with a resound clack, and Germany, weary as he was, rubbed a hand down his face.  Italy needed his help. Again. Of course, Germany rose and quickly gathered his things, abandoning his unfinished work on his desk.  

He had made two decisions recently; the first was that no matter how incredibly bothersome Italy could be, it was his duty to always help his ally.  Second, he had decided that he needed to escape his work as soon as possible, lest the tedium of dealing with his country’s more mundane affairs drive him to insanity.

Like every other nation, Germany had taken on many different roles for his country at one time or another: diplomat, ambassador, soldier, historian, spy, postman, assassin--the list went on.  On this particular day, however, the most exciting things that Germany’s work had blessed him with were a half-dozen banal phone calls, a small mountain of official documents, and a papercut. At the very least, Italy’s regular calls for help gave Germany an opportunity to stretch his legs.

Turning off the light, Germany left his office and frowned, perplexed. The location from which Italy had called this time was a bit unusual.  Germany stepped outside into the warm air of his homeland and closed his eyes, focusing his intent on Greece. Centuries of practice traveling in this manner allowed him to find the pull of Greece in a matter of seconds. When Germany opened his eyes, a long dirt path dotted with flowers stretched before him,  leading him southeast towards his mission. Just like the desk work, rescuing Italy was an action integral to the smooth functioning of his country during this war. It was a necessary chore that he would complete dutifully.

At least, that’s how he preferred to think of it.

Germany knew that it would take a little under an hour to reach Greece’s house if he kept up a swift jog.  As his boots kicked up dirt along the road, his mind suggested plenty of dangers that Italy could be facing.  He began with the guess that Italy had only gotten himself into some harmless trouble, but then he thought about how Italy had only managed to relay his location and a few shouted pleas for help to him before the call had been rather forcibly ended.  While that in and of itself was not unusual, had Italy sounded more distressed than usual? Was he being attacked? If so, had he been wounded? Each scenario he thought up grew increasingly perilous, and a keen sense of apprehension urged him to pick up his pace.

Despite having considered dozens of possible situations that he might stumble upon, Germany was still unprepared for the sight that greeted him as he trotted to a halt, panting, in Greece’s front yard.  Cats of all shapes and sizes roamed lazily around Greece’s beautiful garden, which was filled with odd statues and vibrant plants. What puzzled Germany, however, were the two people resting on the ground in the center of it all.

“Hello Germany,” Greece called cordially from where he sat on top of Italy.  The greeting was almost lost beneath Italy’s thrashing and wailing.

“Germany! Germany! Help me Germany! Greece is crushing my ribs! He’s heavier than he looks, and my delicate frame--” Italy continued blubbering as Germany sighed with disdain.  A kitten batted at Italy’s curl, which was waving violently with his flailing.

“Greece.  Why are you sitting on Italy?” Germany asked, mustering as much patience and civility as he could manage, which was, in that moment, not a large amount.

Greece wobbled slightly as his unhappy seat continued wriggling beneath him, and replied, “I am only showing Italy why he shouldn’t pick fights with people who can wrestle.”

“What do you mean ‘pick fights’?” Germany shot back, incredulous.  “Wait, did--did Italy attack you?”  _ All on his own? _ he wanted to add, but felt it an inappropriate comment to make in front of an enemy. 

A shadow fell heavy and dark across Greece’s face as he nodded and proclaimed, “He is trespassing during a time of war, and even worse,” Greece’s frown deepened.  “He tried to take one of my cats.”

Germany suddenly felt very old and thought that perhaps he should become a shut-in like Japan.  Despite the temptation to turn around and let Italy suffer, he persisted in his mission. “Whatever the case, I must ask that you release Italy,” said Germany.  For a short moment the only sounds were the breeze as it rustled through the grass, the distant meowing of cats, and Italy’s continued complaints.

“No,” came Greece’s short reply.  

Were he not in the middle of a war, Germany might have attempted to talk things out with Greece for a little while longer, but as the situation stood, Germany simply lacked the patience.  It wasn’t incredibly difficult for Germany to remove Greece from atop Italy, especially since Greece had already expelled much of his energy on wrestling Italy. After a relatively tame scuffle, Greece decided that fighting Germany was too much effort and instead shuffled away to take a nap beneath a shady tree.  

Having been rescued, Italy wasted no time in wrapping his arms around Germany, sputtering thanks and apologies in equal measure.  Although he couldn’t deny his irritation, Germany gently patted Italy’s back a few times and said, “Slow down, Italy. Are you hurt anywhere?”

“Oh, uh,” Italy considered the possibility and patted himself down.  “I think I’m okay, except--ow,” he hissed as he found a few places on his body that would most definitely bruise, but he discovered himself to be otherwise unharmed.  “I’m okay,” he repeated, grinning up at Germany. “It just hurts a bit.” Germany nodded, satisfied with the answer. “You’re not hurt, are you?”

“Me? Not at all.  Greece didn’t put up too much of a fight,” Germany assured him, and Italy smiled all the brighter.  “Although my productivity is dying as we speak,” he muttered, lamenting the work he had abandoned on his desk.  Unsettled by the thought of his neglected responsibilities--and, therefore, his angry boss--Germany decided it was time to return home.  Using the same method he had used to get there, Germany conjured up a road with a thought, and it shimmered into existence before them. The two started down the flower-sprinkled trail and continued their conversation.

“I can’t begin to imagine why you thought it was a good idea to go harass Greece, especially at a time like this,” Germany chastised him.  Italy tugged sheepishly at the edge of his sleeve.

“My Boss told me to attack him, but I… got distracted,” Italy confessed.

A tired slump fell onto Germany’s shoulders.  “Next time, you should ask for help  _ before _ the enemy has you in a headlock,” Germany advised.  “I am your ally, after all. You should come to me before doing things like this.”

“You’re right, Germany,” said Italy, nodding vigorously.  “I’ll remember next time, but it’s good to know you’ll come help me if I need it,” he said in earnest, large eyes peering up at Germany.

Germany grunted and shoved his hands into his pockets, looking away.  “Yes, just try not to need it,” he grumbled, though there was no real anger in him.  The road before them was long and beautiful, and for a little while, both were content to admire the scenery that blossomed around them.

The quiet did not last long, however.  Italy had soon begun singing and skipping and carrying on about all the little things he had done and seen since he had last spoken with Germany, which hadn’t been very long ago at all.  Germany half-listened, using most of his mind to think up a new training regimen for Italy and his newest ally, Japan, so that they could be better equipped when they needed to invade another country without his aid.  From what little he had seen of Japan, Germany was confident that he could take care of himself, although he seemed to be lacking in areas where Germany was strong. Italy was, of course, Italy, and tended to need all the help he could get.  

Germany’s focus was quickly turning fully towards training when Italy very suddenly stopped and grabbed Germany’s arm, forcing him to a halt as he cried “Look, Germany! Heliotropes!” Germany followed Italy’s gaze to see purple blossoms dusting the roadside. 

“Oh? Yes, they’re quite beautiful,” Germany replied, although his mind was more occupied with his work than with the simple beauty of the flowers.  Italy, though, was relentlessly enthusiastic and began telling him all that he knew about them.

“Did you know they have a story behind them, Germany?” he began excitedly, bouncing on his toes.  “They say that a nymph fell in love with the god of the sun, but the sun god was in love with somebody else, so the nymph died of sadness!  Isn’t that, well, sad? Anyway, the sun god finally noticed that the nymph loved him after it was too late, so he turned the nymph into these flowers.”

The story had, for the time being, successfully pulled Germany away from his more productive thoughts, and recognition flared somewhere in the back of Germany’s mind.  “Oh yes, I know that one,” he said, though he wasn’t sure where he’d heard it. “The nymph was so devoted to the sun god that she watched him day after day, even as a flower.”

“Oh, you like Greek myths, too?” Italy asked excitedly.  “I used to hear them all the time, when I lived with Austria, and...”  The smile slowly slid from Italy’s face after he said this, and the end of his sentence was lost in a deep melancholy.  Germany wasn’t sure why Italy had become so somber, but he supposed that speaking of one’s past was never an easy thing, especially for a nation.  Despite how young and carefree Italy looked, Germany was sure that Italy had not been spared hardship during his long life. The silence began to worry him, however, when after five minutes Italy had made no more conversation.  Italy was only ever this quiet when he was napping, and even then he tended to mumble in his sleep. “Is something the matter, Italy?”

Italy jumped as though he had forgotten Germany was there.  “What? Oh! Yes! I mean, no, nothing is bothering me.” Germany frowned in concern.  “Hey, Germany?”

“Yes?”

“Can I sleep at your house tonight?”

The request surprised Germany, but he reasoned that it might be beneficial for keeping an eye on Italy.  “Yes, I suppose,” came the hesitant reply. Italy’s strange behavior and sudden request had Germany feeling somewhat off-kilter.  He hadn’t had a guest in his house since Italy had been a prisoner there during the first world war. Thankfully, Germany always kept his home in prime condition, so he was not unprepared for a visitor. 

“Oh, thanks Germany!”  Italy beamed. “Hey, I’m getting kind of excited about it, now that I’m thinking about it.  It’ll be like a sleepover!” Germany couldn’t help but smile at Italy’s enthusiasm. He wasn’t sure that he, in all his life, had ever had as much energy as Italy displayed in a single gesture.

Germany thought Italy very unusual as he watched Italy dance ahead and pick a flower from the roadside.  Germany considered that he was not an entirely useless ally, most of the time. The morale of his troops had increased greatly since Italy suggested that they be fed rations that were somewhat easier on the palate.  And, it was true that Italy was an excellent runner, although Germany wished that Italy would use that ability when he was not in retreat.

Germany watched with some amusement as Italy began, with delicate hands, to pluck handfuls of wildflowers from the ground and knot them together in a chain.  As Italy darted around, he sometimes stopped in a patch for so long that he had to run to catch up to Germany’s brisk pace. At other times he flew far ahead to gather whatever flower caught his eye.  After a few minutes of work, Italy had tied together a beautiful crown of colorful blossoms that he had collected along the way.

Italy affixed the crown atop his head, and spun around once on his heel, admiring his handiwork, thinking it beautiful.  However, he had yet to become bored with the task, and set to work on collecting enough flowers to make a second crown. It occurred to Germany that Italy looked like some fairy-tale creature as he danced lightly across the green fields, sunlight shining on his hair.  Germany was engrossed in his thoughts when Italy practically materialized in front of him with another crown of flowers in his hands, nearly causing Germany to bump into him.

“Hey!  Watch where you’re--”

Germany was interrupted by Italy standing on the tips of his toes to place the fruit of his labor atop Germany’s head.  “There!” Italy exclaimed. “Now you’re beautiful too!” Italy skipped away gleefully, singing a senseless tune to himself.  Germany was frozen to the spot, still processing the compliment.  _ Did he just… Yes.  He called me… And now he’s talking about the clouds.  But… why..?  _ After concluding that he did not understand Italians and probably never would, he continued walking, agreeing in short hums at the shapes Italy said the clouds had formed from one minute to the next.  The rings of flowers remained on their heads the whole way home.

By the time the pair reached Germany’s house, the sun was setting on the horizon, casting golden pools of sunlight across all of Germany.  Italy had tired himself out some time ago and had resorted to humming and singing quietly to himself to pass the time. 

Surrounded by the sunset and Italy’s soft voice and the peace of the moment, it was easy for Germany to forget the war for a little while, although he could never quite tune out the stress of his people.  As all nations could, Germany felt his people’s emotions every minute of every day. Currently it was their stress that buzzed persistently in the back of his head. Despite all that and the work that still remained to be done there, Germany was glad to be home.  

Dinner was a simple affair that night.  Italy had insisted on cooking, and Germany couldn’t find it within himself to protest.  After all, Italy enjoyed the task, and it created one less chore for Germany to do. So, while Italy was in the kitchen preparing food, Germany completed the last of his work for the day and decided that the rest could wait until after he got some sleep.

Together they ate as Italy continued a pleasant stream of conversation.  Germany quietly listened, occasionally chiming in with his own observations on one matter or another.  Whenever Germany spoke, Italy was quick to supply his thoughts, although his remarks never quite felt like interruptions.

It was no surprise to Germany when their discussion drifted to the arts, Italy’s passion and delight.  Italy was highly knowledgeable in everything from music to theater, so he was more than happy to answer Germany’s questions when they came up.  As the night grew older, they moved the conversation from the table to the living room by the fireplace. The warmth and light flickered across their faces as they spoke about about the beautiful parts of their cultures that were so easily forgotten during times of war, just as their flower crowns had been forgotten in a heap on the kitchen table.

During a lull in their conversation, an open sketchbook on the coffee table caught Italy’s attention.  “I didn’t know you could draw,” he said as he flipped through the pages.

The subtle compliment was not lost on Germany, who was well aware of how very picky Italy was when it came to everything from food to painting, and just how blunt Italy could be when he didn’t believe something met his high standards of adequacy.  “Yes, it’s something I like to do in my free time, although I would like to get better at it,” Germany replied. After a moment spent watching Italy leaf through the sketchbook, he added, “Perhaps one day, when this war is over, you could help me do that.”  

Italy’s mouth twitched at Germany’s words, and a strange look crossed his face.   “Maybe I could,” Italy agreed before he placed the book pages-down on the table. Germany decided not to question Italy’s sudden shift in mood and quickly changed the subject.

“I meant to ask you sooner, but won’t your Boss be wondering where you are?  You didn’t tell him you would be here, did you?”

Italy looked somehow amused by the question.  “I don’t report to my Boss every time I want to go somewhere or visit a friend, Germany.  I just go.”

Germany was taken aback.  “What do you mean you just go?”

A little laugh left Italy’s lips as he replied, “I mean that I just go!  It’s not like my Boss owns me.” Now he looked to Germany with an oddly discerning gaze, and Germany felt like he was being looked through, suddenly.  “You do know you don’t have to listen to your Boss’s every word, don’t you, Germany? Your Boss doesn’t own you, either. You're a nation, not a hammer.”

Red crept up Germany’s neck.  “Of course I know that!” he answered, rather defensively.  “It’s just that we are nations at war. Surely you’ve been given important work to do.  You can’t just leave it,” Germany insisted, growing incredulous at the very idea.

“You left your work to come rescue me from Greece today,” Italy countered.  “I bet you didn’t call your Boss before you went and did that.”

“No, but perhaps I should have.”  Discomfort dug its way into Germany’s gut as he considered how furious his Boss would be if he found out that Germany had left the country for more than a few minutes without telling him.  “He’s always saying how I need to stay here in case my country needs me.” His Boss had always acted towards Germany in a way that felt protective, but somehow Germany didn’t feel quite safe with the man either.  “He… he doesn’t like it when I leave. But other times he sends me on these long, dangerous missions without warning. I’m sure he has his reasons, but I don’t… I don’t really understand it,” Germany admitted quietly.

“That doesn’t sound right,” said Italy, troubled.  “My Boss isn’t the best one I’ve ever had,” he admitted, frowning. “He doesn't seem to trust me or Romano with much work, so I guess he doesn't have much reason to care where we go. He is kind of scary, though.  Mean, too, and--” he laughed shortly-- “Bossy. But he doesn’t treat us like prisoners, either.” When Germany didn’t respond, Italy asked, “Are you sure about this guy?”

In that moment, Germany heard Prussia’s words from just a few weeks prior echoing in his mind.  It was the same sentiment: can you trust him? Germany had been able to dismiss his concerns at the time, convinced that Prussia simply hated taking orders from his little brother’s Boss.  However, hearing those same concerns voiced a second time--by Italy, of all nations--made uncertainty roil around in his chest.

“Of course I’m sure about him,” Germany huffed, though his voice rattled with hesitancy.   “My people trust him. He rescued me when I was sick and dying, Italy. Why shouldn’t I be sure about him?”

Italy frowned and looked away.  Germany was clearly becoming upset, and Italy honestly didn’t know what else to say except that Germany’s new Boss gave him the creeps.  Italy knew Germany would never find creepiness to be an adequate reason to disobey, however, and kept his mouth shut until he finally settled on,  “Just promise me you’ll watch out for yourself, Germany.”

Germany was silent for so long Italy was beginning to wonder if he had heard him, but at last, he nodded and said, “I will.”

The conversation died down soon thereafter, and the two passed time sitting in comfortable silence.  Germany soon took to reading a book, and Italy lounged on a chair by the fire, soaking in its warmth as the chill of the evening began to set in. 

Italy found that he quite liked Germany’s house.  It was cozy and warm, and small mementos that Germany had collected through the years were placed neatly here and there--a hat that had been part of an old uniform, a collar from one of his favorite dogs, his first pistol in pristine condition on the mantel.  Everything in it felt so much like Germany that Italy couldn’t help but doze off in his relaxation.

Soon, Italy’s soft snoring pulled Germany away from his book.  He chastised himself silently for being such a bad host that his guest had fallen asleep without ever being shown to a bedroom.  Setting his book and his reading glasses aside, he rose and stepped towards Italy, but stopped when his sketchbook caught his eye.  The thought of it lying tented so haphazardly on the table all night bothered him, so he picked it up.

Italy had left the book open to a sketch Germany had made of a rabbit years ago.  Sometimes he went back to that sketch, trying to get it just right, but he could never seem to get the proportions correct.  Sighing, he closed the book and returned it to its home on a nearby shelf. 

Italy was still snoring from the chair by the fast-fading fire.  Germany debated for a moment or two whether he should leave him there to sleep or take him to a room, but when he saw how awkwardly Italy’s neck was bent, he knew what he had to do.  Italy didn’t need a crick in his neck to go along with the bruises he had earned that day. Besides, Italy was perhaps the heaviest sleeper Germany had ever known. He proceeded with caution nevertheless, unsure of how Italy might react if he woke up in Germany’s arms.

As quietly and gently as he could, he scooped Italy up and carried him up the stairs to the closest bedroom.  He softly deposited him on the bed before setting to work pulling Italy’s shoes off his feet. Italy stirred a bit at the action but did not wake, much to Germany’s relief.  Finally, Germany pulled the blankets over Italy’s sleeping form and bid him a silent goodnight. He left the room quietly and crossed the hall to his own room and his own bed, which beckoned to him eagerly.  It had been a very long day for Germany, and despite the war and the never-ending sea of work that had to be done to keep his country fighting another day, he felt somehow at peace.

Just before he fell asleep, however, a warm, pleasant tingle raced across Germany’s entire body, causing Germany’s eyelids to flutter and a lax smile to spread across his face.  Germany knew what this was: somewhere, his troops were advancing. His borders were expanding. He was conquering, and it felt heavenly. It numbed every ache in his body. Every unpleasant sensation grew a little more distant, and Germany fell asleep feeling more alive than ever.  Somewhere out there, he knew there was fresh land waiting for him to claim fully as his own. The last thought on his mind before he slipped into unconsciousness was one desire: he wanted more, and he would do whatever it took to get it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is some beautiful fan art for this chapter! You can find it here >>> https://krazyjoeyart.tumblr.com/post/184043185934/flower-crowns-so-i-dont-normally-do-this-but-i


	2. Memories of an Empire

Italy was not quite awake when he felt something jostle him, but he was just conscious enough to realize that he was being carried.  Who could be carrying him? His sleep-addled mind suggested that perhaps he had fallen asleep in the tomato patch again and that Romano was carrying him back towards home, but this chest was far too firm, the arms much too big.  A spark of clarity alighted on Italy’s brain, and in an instant he remembered, drowsily, that he was in Germany’s house, and that he must be drooling onto Germany’s shirt. No sooner had he made these realizations than he felt the coolness of long-unused blankets caress him.  Dreams once again replaced his thoughts.

He awoke several hours later to find the room illuminated in silver.  Blinking sluggishly, he sat up and wondered how he had gotten there before vaguely recalling having been moved some time before. He stretched, wincing as his limbs ached, bruised and sore from his wrestling match with Greece.  With a little frown, Italy lowered his arms and wondered what time it could possibly be. His watch told him that it was only three in the morning, and Italy found that he felt not at all like sleeping. He considered the options that were available to him for how to best spend a few hours until Germany awoke--which couldn’t be that much longer, Italy figured, considering how early he liked to rise.  

“Let’s see,” Italy wondered aloud in the muffled quiet of the bedroom. “I could go read one of Germany’s books, or maybe cook breakfast.  I bet Germany would like that.” The wooden floor creaked as he slipped out of bed. “Except, the food would get cold, and nobody likes a cold breakfast.”  He shuffled out of the room and peeked around the hallway, finding that he had been moved up to the second floor of the house where all the bedrooms in the house were, including Germany’s.  Italy padded softly down the stairs so that he would not be in any danger of waking his host with his sleeplessness.

“It’s kind of creepy down here in the dark,” he whispered, bracing himself against the chill of the sleepy house.  Long shadows darkened what had before been a comforting house so much that it seemed like an entirely different place.  Sharp-edged shadows glared at Italy from the kitchen as he peeked into it, but the room didn’t seem so scary when Italy spotted the wreaths of flowers that had been left on the table, made ethereal by the moonlight coming in between the curtains.  

Italy did not notice the flowers come alive under his touch as he smiled fondly, remembering how lovely the trip back from Greece’s house had been.  “Oh!” Italy exclaimed with sudden remembrance, reaching into his pocket. From there he drew a sprig of heliotropes that he had collected earlier that day.  They still smelled fragrant and somehow looked fresh despite having rested in Italy’s pocket for so many hours. 

Turning on a nearby lamp, Italy began rummaging through Germany’s kitchen for a vase and settled instead on a teacup he thought would accent the flower’s petals well.  A quick splash of water completed the arrangement, which Italy placed in the center of the table. It was, however, a bit unconventional; the flowers hung lopsidedly over the edge of the cup, and a teacup was certainly not a traditional method of keeping flowers in one’s home.  Italy thought it was perfect.

Not long after Italy had taken a seat to admire his handiwork did he begin to reminisce, poking at the petals on the flower crowns absentmindedly.  It was always at times like this when Italy became absorbed in his memories. During the day, it was easy to ignore his past, but during the quiet hours when the sun was still asleep, Italy’s mind became restless.  It was never on purpose that he lost himself in thought, as he so often did. There was simply always something that would take his soul by the hand and lead him through time back to his childhood.

Even after all these years, Italy still wasn’t sure what he thought of Austria.  Most of the time, Austria had treated him as a servant. Italy had become very good at housekeeping in those years, but no matter how well he cleaned the house, Austria never seemed quite satisfied.  Nonetheless, Austria always dismissed him with curt thanks and sent him on to some other task or to play out in the garden.

There was a time when Italy wasn’t even treated with the dignity of a servant.  When he had first arrived at Austria’s house, he had been treated as a prisoner.  He hadn’t even been allowed to go outside without supervision for several months for fear that he would try to run away back to his grandfather and friends.  Italy remembered with a bitter smile the one time he did try to run away. Austria made sure he never attempted it again. 

The ghost of a boot on his face made Italy frown and rub his cheek.  That had only hurt for a little while, but what he remembered most vividly was his stomach cramping up painfully for not being allowed to eat for the next day.  Hungary’s voice echoed in Italy’s memory, muffled by those cold, rough cell walls Italy remembered so well. She had spoken with Austria on Italy’s behalf that time, asking him to have more sympathy, and “Didn’t you ever try to run away once or twice Mr. Austria?  Little Italy is only a child.” Italy had always liked Hungary best. She was never rough with him as Austria had been.

And then there was Holy Rome.

At first Italy had been quite afraid of Holy Rome and took orders from him just as he took orders from Austria.  Soon, however, Holy Rome began to treat Italy with a kind of delicacy that he had never been shown before. Hungary was kind to him, always, but Holy Rome treated him differently.  Whereas Hungary was usually disposed to listen to Austria, Holy Rome would frequently go behind his back and sneak Italy food or toys or other little things to keep him entertained if he thought Italy was being punished unfairly. 

When Italy was not in trouble, they would spend their free time together painting or singing or telling stories.  Italy loved hearing the stories Holy Rome had collected from his journeys to far-off lands, especially stories from Greece.  Sometimes he would even present Italy with tokens from those places; pretty rocks, books, flowers. Italy liked to wear the flowers in his hair until they blew away in the wind, or until Holy Rome came back from another journey with another pretty blossom for Italy’s hair.

Italy sighed heavily and wondered if Holy Rome would ever come back to him with another flower, the answer already clear.  It still pained him greatly to think about how he promised he’d wait, how he was still waiting, in his heart still watching the horizon, waiting for the sun to rise again.  Italy blinked hard and heard a tear land thickly on the table. He rubbed the tears out of his eyes and startled when he saw that the flower crown he was holding was crushed, dry and withered in his hand even though it had been full of life and color only minutes before.

The chair scraped noisily against the floor as Italy stood up to search for anything that might distract him from his thoughts.  He decided that Germany probably wouldn’t mind if he explored the first floor of his home a bit. Like a ghost he drifted down the darkened halls, letting the moon light his way when he could.  He learned that Germany had quite a library hidden away in a room near the back of the house that was populated mainly by tactical manuals, volumes of history and art, and a few works of general fiction.  Among these were several modestly-bound books that had all been written by someone called Ludwig Beilschmidt. Italy had never heard of him, but he assumed that he must be one of Germany’s favorite authors.  One or two similar looking books had the name “Gilbert Beilschmidt” printed on their sides. It made Italy happy to think that the two might be related somehow.

There was also, surprisingly enough, a substantial collection of fairy-tales on Germany’s shelves.  A strange sort of fondness blossomed in Italy’s heart--of course Germany would never have shown anyone that particular hobby of his, but upon further consideration, Italy found that it suited him quite well.  All those dark fables and grim warnings against everything from laziness to disrespect made Italy wonder if Germany had written a few of the stories himself. It wasn’t at all uncommon for nations to publish books, after all.  Most of the time they did so either anonymously or under a human name that they had chosen for themselves. While mainly used on legal documents or for other business purposes, Italy found that having a name was especially useful when one wanted to chat with pretty people on the street.  Other nations used personal names as a kind of nickname to be used among close friends or relatives.

Italy remembered early in his life when France and Spain had helped him pick a name.  France, who had always admired Italy’s bright, happy spirit, had suggested a name that reflected it, while Spain had simply suggested a surname that he thought sounded cool.  Thus, Feliciano Vargas had been born. Italy only knew a handful of nations’ names. Although he was curious about what his friends called themselves, it didn’t bother Italy much to have a bit of mystery in his life. 

With that thought in his head, Italy left the library, across from which stood Germany’s office.  Italy poked his head inside the room curiously. Germany’s chair loomed, tall and dark, silhouetted against the window in the back of the office.  Neat stacks of paper were piled on the sturdy desk in the center of the room. It was made apparent by the bookshelves that lined two walls that the contents of Germany’s overfull library had spilled into his office.  Italy stepped inside, taking his time examining whatever interested him.

A picture frame on one of the bookshelves caught Italy’s gaze, and he picked it up to have a closer look.  Squinting in the dim light, Italy made out four faces: Austria, Hungary, Prussia, and Germany. Austria looked as stern as ever in that thick woolen coat that he favored so much.  Beside him stood Hungary, who looked just as powerful and beautiful as Italy remembered her to be. She wore a dress that struck Italy as somehow both simple and elegant, and on her face was a bold, playful smile.  A quick look revealed to Italy that Austria’s hand must have rested somewhere on her back, a sign of better times between them.

Next to them stood Prussia, who sported a confident, almost cocky grin and had an arm slung around Germany’s shoulders.  Prussia had a fearsome reputation and the muscle mass to match, just like his brother, but he lacked Germany’s restraint.  

Although he and Prussia certainly hadn’t always gotten along, Italy found that he liked him quite well.  After all, they had known each other for centuries, though Italy could scarcely remember the last time he had been able to spend any time with him.  Italy missed his teasing and his jokes, and even missed getting advice from him--though more than once Prussia’s advice had gotten him into trouble. Despite all that, Italy wanted to see him again if for no other reason than to reassure himself that Prussia was the same as he had always been.

In the photo, Germany stood tall and disciplined in contrast to the relaxed posture of his brother.  To the unknowing eye, Germany’s face would seem to be expressionless. However, Italy knew what Germany’s smiles looked like, and that was definitely one of them.   _ It must be because he’s with his brother, _ thought Italy, smiling at the picture, and began thinking about his own older brother, Romano.

In spite of their separation early in life and their conflicting personalities, Italy and Romano had managed to grow closer since their reunion.  Romano had resented Italy at first, but Italy’s overabundance of love and affection had ensured that Romano inevitably grew to be just as attached to and as protective of Italy as Italy was to him, even if he usually hid it behind profanity and other unpleasantries. Despite this, Italy knew that though he and Romano were inseparable, Prussia and Germany had had much more time to develop their bond and were probably even closer.

Italy placed the photo back on the shelf and turned around, wondering what other interesting artifacts Germany’s office would yield.  Germany’s desk was immaculate. It was apparent that he had a system through which all of his paperwork cycled; here went new work, there went unfinished business, in this stack went completed tasks that were to be filed away or mailed.  It was precise, repetitive, clockwork. Italy was sure that if even one paper were moved, Germany would know about it. The only thing on the desk that seemed out of place was a crisp new book that rested underneath Germany’s lamp titled “Japanese Culture and Etiquette for the Uninstructed German.”  Italy thought that seemed a bit excessive, although endearing, and wondered fleetingly if there were a version for Italians somewhere around the office as well.

Looking to the wall opposite the desk, Italy discovered a world map that was marked heavily with pins and string and pen.  He eyed it carefully, squinting in the gloom to see it clearly. Green pins were pushed into Germany, Italy, and Japan on the map.  Italy acknowledged with a dissatisfied hum that he didn’t know Japan very well yet. Outside of meetings, they had only spoken to each other a handful of times, but he liked Japan well enough.  They were friends, after all! And one day, they were going to all go out for a picnic together and relax without a war to worry them. A smile returned to Italy’s face as he wondered if he could visit Japan’s house soon.  

The pins on the map called once more for Italy’s attention.  Examining the parchment carefully, he was able to pick up on a few patterns.  Blue pins marked non-hostile countries, yellow neutral ones, and almost everything else, red.  Italy thought that was strange. Even stranger, he thought, that a few countries were marked with both blue and red pins.  That meant that red couldn’t simply mean enemy territory.  _ What could this mean? _ thought Italy as he read over Germany’s tidy handwriting for some clues.

Italy’s face went pale when he figured it out.

The red pins, Italy discovered with dread, marked nations that Germany wanted to conquer and add to his own land. Almost nothing was left untouched.  Italy trembled minutely and leaned against Germany’s desk for support. It was far worse than he had imagined. He had known that Germany’s new Boss had pushed him to expand, but this… And for what? Power? 

Italy began to reason with himself to assuage his fears, his heart pounding.   _ This is probably all Germany’s Boss’s idea.  Germany would never try to keep this many nations in his house, right?   _ A sudden dryness overtook Italy’s lips.  Here he was in Germany’s house, wondering if he was the first of many to come, if soon a red pin would stab through Italy’s spot on that map, too.

Or maybe…

Another’s voice echoed in Italy’s thoughts, saying “Join with me, Italy, and together we’ll become the greatest empire in the world!”  Italy felt very cold. Wretched images of his grandfather’s bruised and beaten body flashed through his mind. He imagined Holy Rome in the same terrible state, but then Holy Rome turned into Germany and became a crumpled, bloody heap on the floor. Italy shook his head and  hugged himself, teeth clenched. Both his grandfather and Holy Rome had held the same urge to conquer, and they had both disappeared because of it.  _ No, it’s not too late,  _ he assured himself, beginning to hyperventilate.   _ I can still stop this.  I can still save him. I can-- _

A pained groan sounded from upstairs, breaking the silence of the house, and Italy looked up.  Another faint sound, and Italy began walking shakily back towards the stairs, struggling to keep his anxiety at bay.  Italy hurriedly found his way to Germany’s room and stopped at the doorway, looking in. Germany was asleep, but his forehead was scrunched and his jaw was set.  Sweat glistened on his forehead, and he kept muttering unintelligible things to himself. Whatever Germany was trying to say, he was obviously upset about it. 

For a moment, Italy was at a loss for what to do, but quickly decided that he would do for Germany what he did for Romano when he had nightmares.  Stepping softly across the creaky floors, Italy slipped silently onto the bed next to Germany and wound a careful hand around Germany’s clenched one.  The way that Germany’s expression changed instantly from distressed to perplexed, and then to a tense calm was almost comical. He looked so soft with his hair a sleep-ruffled mess and his crisp uniform replaced by a loose tank top--not at all like a nation that would try to conquer the world.  The little grunts Germany had been making soon disappeared and were replaced with his steady breathing. Italy had fully intended to get up and return to his own bed as soon as Germany calmed, but his weariness caught up with him there in Germany’s bed. He was spent, both physically and emotionally.  The last thought on Italy’s mind before he fell asleep was that he was sure he could save Germany from himself. What other choice did he have? Besides, he already had a plan.

He dreamed of Holy Rome until the sun rose again.


	3. Dawn of a New Alliance

Something strangely warm and soft was pressed against Germany’s side.   _...dog? _ He thought blearily.   _ No, smells good.   _ He rolled closer to the mysterious form that was lying on top of the sheets next to him, eyes still closed.  He dozed again for a minute or two, his dreams still mingling with reality. In his stupor, he cuddled even closer, but his eyes shot wide open when he felt the rough texture of a uniform against his skin.

Sprawled out beside him was Italy, fully-dressed and drooling out of the corner of parted lips.  Somewhere between thinking  _ Funny, he looks like that when he’s awake, too,  _ and  _ How the hell did Italy get in my bed?   _ Germany’s face turned five shades redder, though he would never admit to himself whether it was from incredulous shock or flustered embarrassment.  The commotion that followed consisted of much shouting and confusion and crying, although the latter was mostly Italy’s contribution. 

When the dust settled, Italy found himself hiding under the sheets from a red-faced Germany, who had all but fallen out of the bed.

“What the hell are you doing in my bed?!” Germany yelled, and Italy cautiously peeked his head out from under the sheets to look at Germany, whom he suspected might be unhappy with him.

“Sleeping, I think.”

“That’s not what I meant you idiot!”

Italy winced and attempted to explain himself.   “Oh! Well you see, you were making some odd noises in your sleep--” and here, Germany’s face somehow went a shade darker, “--and you looked so upset, like you might be having a nightmare, so I thought I should come hold your hand like I do for fratello when he has bad dreams.”

Germany opened his mouth and shut it again quietly, confusion and embarrassment and irritation all battling for control of his heart.  “You were trying to… to comfort me,” he stated, voice and eyes softer than they had been before, if only just so. Italy nodded. “So then why didn’t you go back to your own bed after that?”

“I meant to, honest, Germany! But I guess I was just too tired and I fell asleep.”  Italy punctuated his sentence with a nervous chuckle, hoping Germany didn’t notice the way his cheeks turned pink. 

The room went quiet after that.  Germany deflated, the fight having left him, and in turn Italy relaxed as well, no longer hiding under the blanket.  With a sigh, Germany closed his eyes and ran a hand through his hair.  _ What will I do with you, Italy? _ he wondered to himself, shaking his head. After a long moment, Germany collected himself and looked up at Italy, who seemed to be very intent on counting the threads in the sheets.  His heart did a little twist, seeing him act so pitiful. “I appreciate your concern, Italy,” he said gently. For some reason he couldn’t bring himself to ask him not to do it again.  Besides, this was probably a one-time affair, Germany reasoned. An accident, even. There was a very big chance that he would never wake up to Italy snoring in his face again.

This was possibly the most incorrect thought that had ever graced Germany’s consciousness, but that was a realization for another day.

Pleased to have made amends so quickly, Italy flung himself at Germany and wrapped his arms around his muscled midsection.  “I’m so glad! Wow, that could have been really awkward!” Italy’s words were muffled by Germany’s tank top. “Oh, Germany, your tummy made some funny grumbly noises!  You must be hungry, right? Do you want some breakfast? I know I do!”

Before Germany could so much as draw a breath to respond, Italy detached himself from Germany and quickly escaped down the hallway, leaving his very perplexed host to attempt to carry on with his morning routine with some semblance of normalcy.  As Italy headed for the kitchen, he tried hard not to think about the way his stomach was clenching strangely with some emotion he couldn’t identify. He decided to forget about it and chalked it up to hunger.

The kitchen in Germany’s house was still unfamiliar to him, so when Italy had gathered all the makings of a proper breakfast, he was quite pleased with himself.  Soon the smell of coffee and the tart scent of diced fruit permeated the air. A few slices of buttered toast found their way onto the table as well, nestled cozily beside the heliotropes Italy had put there during the night.  Miraculously, the flowers seemed to have outgrown their teacup despite having been cut off from their roots.

Just as Italy set the coffee down next to the plates, Germany entered the kitchen, looking far more put together than he had been just half an hour before.  He had clearly taken a shower; his damp hair was slicked back smoothly, and a clean white dress-shirt adorned his body.

“Good timing,” Italy said,  taking a seat to begin his own food.

Germany stiffly sat down across from Italy, unused to having his breakfast made by someone other than himself.  It threw him off schedule and reminded him of the bygone days of his childhood, when Prussia had prepared his meals.  Having someone take care of him produced an uncomfortable feeling in Germany’s gut, although he would never be so rude as to say that to the man who had just made his breakfast for him at his own house.

“You didn’t have to do this, Italy,” said Germany, careful to phrase his words as politely as he could.  “Please don’t think me ungrateful, but you seem to forget that you are a guest here. You know that I will gladly provide for you while you are under my roof.”

Italy frowned.  “Do you not like the food, Germany?”

“No, it’s very good!  But what I’m trying to say is that it was my responsibility as a host to take care of you, and I fear I have done a poor job.  I even let you fall asleep without ever showing you to your room, and you have cooked every meal since you got here.”

“Don’t be silly.  We’re friends! Besides, when I was your prisoner here you cooked all that good food--well it wasn’t great but it didn’t suck, you know? Anyway, you did all that for me back when I was your prisoner and so I thought it was my turn to cook for you.”  Italy didn’t seem to notice how Germany winced.

“Thank you for cooking for me, but just know that I will be handling the next few meals.”  Germany sipped his coffee. “That is, will you be staying for lunch, or...?” 

Italy had barely uttered a syllable in response when he was interrupted by the clamorous barking of Germany’s dogs from outside.  “That’s strange,” said Germany, standing to peer out the window. “They don’t usually carry on like that unless I have a visitor…”  Germany’s eyes widened, then, as he remembered something very important. Then came a knock at the door.

“I’ll get it!” Italy exclaimed before running past Germany to the door.

Germany called for him to wait, but he was simply too slow.

“Oh, hello Mr. Italy.  I was not expecting to see you here, although I am pleasantly surprised,” greeted Japan, standing on Germany’s doorstep looking a little travel-worn, but still as serene as ever.  He wore a full, round pack on his back and a sword on his hip that he would not have carried in a more peaceful time.

Italy, once again acting before Germany could stop him, immediately threw his arms around Japan, saying “It’s so good to see you again Japan!  Germany didn’t tell me you were coming!” Italy was completely oblivious to the way Japan went entirely rigid under his arms. As if it were happening in slow motion, Germany watched with dismay as Japan recoiled and shoved Italy away, Italy’s face contorting into sorrowful confusion as he fell backwards just close enough for Germany to catch him.

When everyone seemed to have fully processed what had just happened, Japan muttered, “I apologize for pushing you.  Please do not touch me.” Japan’s body was still taut as a bow as he wrapped his arms around himself, trying hard to retain his composure.

Germany thought he could hear the good impression he was still trying to make on his new ally dissolve and blow away in the wind.  He immediately began apologizing, trying to salvage as much of his dignity as he could. “I am so very sorry for this misconduct, Japan,” he said, glancing quickly between his two allies.  “I can assure you it won’t happen again. Please come in,” he said, gesturing inside even as Italy was still failing to process what had happened.

“Consider it forgotten,” replied Japan in a tone that said he had not forgotten and likely would not forget anytime soon.  He did, however, step inside, which relieved the fear that Germany had just developed that Japan would turn around and go directly home after his overwarm welcome.  

Germany’s fears were not totally unjustified.  During the first world war, their countries had fought for quite some time.  It had been a brutal cycle of land-seizing, loss and gain that had caused both of them much strife.   Although Japan and Germany themselves preferred to keep their fights verbal when possible, they had on more than one occasion engaged each other in a physical match.  Germany and Japan both knew well the other’s strength, and they respected each other for it. Still, Germany feared that Japan thought him weak after his defeat, and Japan still did not fully trust Germany.

Italy, too, had been allied with Germany’s enemies, which had paradoxically led to their friendship.  After the war, England, France and America had mistreated Italy and refused to take him seriously. They left him out of their divvying-up of spoils and land, which consequently left Italy with great deal of debt.  The need for work caused him to spend more time with Germany, who was also guilty of sometimes not taking him seriously, but who at least treated him fairly.

For the sake of their alliance, Germany hoped that Italy and Japan would somehow get along, but a nagging worry at the back of his head told him that if they managed to get too close, they would turn their backs on him.  Working with each other against him had worked out well enough for them before, so why shouldn’t they try it again? Certainly, Germany would have to keep a tight watch on Italy and Japan when they were together.

“Hey, are you two going to say anything, or are you just going to keep staring at each other like you want to kiss or fight or something?” asked Italy innocently, severing the tension neither Japan nor Germany had meant to build up between themselves.  Germany forced himself to relax and focus his attention on being a gracious host.

“It must have taken you quite some time to get here from your home,” said Germany, forcing as much artificial pleasantness into his words as he could muster.  “Would you like something to eat? Italy made breakfast,” he added, hoping that Italy’s great reputation with cuisine might entice Japan to eat something. Italy smiled at the acknowledgement.

“Yes, thank you,” replied Japan as he followed Germany to the table.  “The road to Europe is long, but when you have lived as long as I have, time has a way of slipping past you.”  As was his custom, Japan had traveled to Germany in the manner only nations could, which was to focus on the pull of a nation’s land to create a road that would lead straight there across oceans and mountains.  In this way, nations could easily walk to each other’s lands in hours or minutes instead of days or weeks.

Germany set down a plate for Japan and willed him to sit.  “May I take your bag up to your room?” he asked politely, feeling the same uncomfortable stiffness he felt when he spoke with his Boss or politicians.  Italy remained oddly quiet as he watched.

Japan passed his bag off to Germany and, after a moment’s hesitation, handed his sword over to him as well.  Germany noticed the pause and wondered if he should be insulted by the hesitation or honored by the trust Japan was clearly trying to establish between them.  He hoped it was the latter. Japan thanked Germany and sat down at the table where Italy had already continued his breakfast. 

“So, Japan!  What brings you here?”  Italy asked cheerfully as Germany crested the stairs.

The question made Japan wonder why Germany had not told Italy in advance of his coming, or Japan of Italy’s presence at his house.  He and Germany were mere acquaintances, but he was at the very least aware of Germany’s reputation as one of the most orderly nations on the globe.  For this reason, he thought it unusual that Germany had seemed so ill-prepared for Japan’s coming. He supposed that times of war could do funny things to anyone’s mind, even turn the most coordinated nations scatterbrained.   Regardless, Japan intended to make the most of this new alliance, starting with Italy, who was waiting patiently for his reply. “Mr. Germany has graciously offered to help me train for the war,” Japan explained, “so we decided that I should visit with him for a few days.”

Excitement sparkled in Italy’s eyes.  “Does that mean you get to train with us? That’s gonna be so much fun!  Well, except for the parts where Germany’s gonna make us run. And do push-ups.  Actually, training sucks, but spending time with you and Germany sounds like a whole lot of fun, so I guess that makes up for it!”

_ Running? And… push-ups? _ thought Japan to himself with disdain.  He had hoped that perhaps when Germany had suggested training, he had meant more tactical affairs, but the more he thought about it, the more he felt he should have guessed that Germany would put an emphasis on the physical.  

“Hey Japan, you don’t look so good,” Italy pointed out.  Japan had unwittingly let his dread show on his face. “Is the food making your stomach upset?  I know it might not be what you’re used to,” asked Italy with concern.

Japan swallowed his uneasiness with a chunk of toast.  “I am quite alright, Mr. Italy, and the food is splendid, as it always is when it comes from you.”  Italy grinned brightly. “In fact, my people are growing quite fond of Italian food. What do you do to make it so delicious?”

Just like that, Japan was able to sit back and listen.  The best way to get a Westerner to like you, Japan had learned, was to let them talk.  At the rate Italy was going, Japan thought they might be best friends by noon.

As Italy continued animatedly speaking, Germany crept back down the stairs and into the kitchen.  Loathe to interrupt, he said nothing and elected to let Italy’s infectious good mood pave the way for better relations between the three of them.  He nodded politely at Japan and began to clean up the mess Italy had made of the kitchen with a soapy rag.

Slowly the topic of conversation had shifted to the flowers at the center of the table.  “Don’t you think they’re pretty?” Italy asked, stroking the petals gently with one finger.  “I found them when I was out with Germany yesterday.”

“Yes, they are beautiful,” agreed Japan, wondering why exactly someone like Germany had been out picking flowers with Italy.

The lull in conversation that was produced at that moment allowed Italy to finally acknowledge Germany’s presence in the kitchen. “Hey, Germany!” Italy called across the room.  Germany’s shoulders slumped imperceptibly at having had the attention brought back to himself. It had been so easy to let Italy talk rather than make stiff conversation with a nation he barely knew.  “I’ve got a question for you, Germany!”

“What is it?” He replied with curiosity, slowing the pace of his dish-washing.

“Since Japan’s staying here for training, do you think I could maybe spend, say, the week instead of just the night?”

This gave Germany a moment of pause.  “I suppose it would be convenient to have both of you here for training... “ he considered.  “Except, you don’t have any of your belongings with you. You’ve been wearing the same uniform since yesterday,” Germany pointed out.  Japan looked a little scandalized.

Italy wasn’t fazed.  “I’ll just run home and get some things! You can think of it as part of my exercise.” Germany looked doubtful.  “Come on, Germany, please? It’ll be so much fun, and I promise I’ll work extra hard, and--” 

“Okay, yes, fine, you can stay,” said Germany with a wave of his rag.  “As long as it is okay with you, Japan,” he finished, a questioning lilt to his voice.

Not a moment passed before Japan replied, “I see no problems with this arrangement.  It will be good for us to spend some time together, I think.”

A wide grin broke out across Italy’s face, and both Germany and Japan could see that he very much wanted to hug Japan again.  Much to their relief, he remembered his ally’s earlier reaction and refrained. Instead he sprang to his feet, gave Germany a peck on the cheek, and ran to the door, shouting, “I’ll go get my things right now!”  With a bang of the door, he was gone, leaving a red-faced Germany and a pink-cheeked Japan alone together in the quiet of the house.

The fact that Italy and Germany had gone flower-picking together made much more sense to Japan now.  “He is quite… affectionate,” Japan noted, leaning back in his seat, looking to the door with a seemingly neutral face that Germany would later learn was his rather subdued expression of surprise.

“Yes, quite,” Germany agreed, coughing to cover his embarrassment at having been kissed by Italy, and even moreso at having been kissed by Italy in front of Japan.  “I suppose you are wondering why he is here.”

“I wasn’t going to ask,” said Japan softly, “but you are correct.”

The plate Germany was scrubbing made a soft clunk at the bottom of the sink as he picked up the next one.  “I am sorry for not telling you sooner,” Germany said with a sigh. “However, I was not aware that Italy would be with us today until late last night.  You see, I had to rescue him from Greece yesterday.”

Japan’s brows furrowed slightly.  “Greece? What was Mr. Italy doing with him, if I may ask?”

The intensity with which Germany scrubbed his dishes increased in his remembered frustration.  “Causing me trouble,” Germany grumbled. “He thought it would be helpful if he picked a fight with Greece.  I suppose he thought England would be forced to come help Greece, but instead I had to go and rescue Italy when I should have been collecting intel in France.”

“That is quite unfortunate,” said Japan. He was quiet for a moment, but then spoke again, sensing an opportunity.  “It sounds to me as though he might benefit from some tactical training,” he hinted. “Perhaps we should focus our energies more on that than physical training later today.” 

Germany actually smiled at that.  “The exercises I have developed train both the mind and the body,” he boasted.  “You can rest assured that you and Italy will receive well-balanced instruction from me.”

“I look forward to it.”  Japan did not, in fact, look forward to it, but he reluctantly accepted his fate.

The tension that had earlier rested between them had somewhat dissipated, leaving in its place the hope for an alliance built on more than simple necessity.

The phone in Germany’s office chose precisely that moment to ring, causing Germany’s brows to crease.  “Excuse me,” he muttered, hurrying to his office. Japan waited, listening as he sipped his coffee.

“Hello?” He heard Germany say from down the hall.  There was a pause, and when Germany next spoke, there was a surprised, almost apologetic quaver in his voice.  “Wh--Yes, right away, sir. A moment please, sir.” Japan wondered if Germany’s Boss was on the line. He could think of few other people that could elicit that tone from him.

In an instant he was back in the kitchen and looking incredibly ill-at-ease.

“Is everything alright, Mr. Germany?” Japan asked, worried.

“I’m not sure,” he replied, concern obvious on his face, “The call is for you, Japan.  It’s your Boss.”


	4. New Friends, New Enemies

Not at all eager to leave Japan’s Boss waiting, Germany and Japan hurried back to Germany’s office.  Germany gestured towards the phone before quietly shutting the door behind him on his way out to give Japan some privacy. 

Japan cleared his throat once before picking up.  “Japan speaking.” Disappointment curled itself around Japan’s heart when he heard the tone of his Boss’s voice.  It couldn’t be good news if he were calling Germany’s residence to reach him. “Yes, I--no you didn’t. I was just--”  His Boss spoke at length here. “Wh--America? But our trade deal--yes, of course. Yes sir. No, not at all sir, but Mr. America is very strong willed.  Are you sure--? Yes, I see. My apologies, but I--no sir. Of course sir. Very well. Goodbye.” Japan pinched the bridge of his nose as he placed the phone back on the hook.  

He felt that he should have seen this coming, but he had hoped for an alternative.  Since he had allied himself with Germany and Italy, he had made his relationship with England very strained, and by extension had distanced himself from America despite their blossoming friendship. Japan was quite upset to learn, as his Boss had just informed him, that they would soon be bombing America as a kind of threat designed to scare him away from joining the war.  He knew that any attempt to speak with America outside a meeting from now on, even just to explain that he felt no ill will towards him as an individual, would be viewed as treason by his superiors.

He sighed, resigning himself to the loss of what he felt could have been a great friend in America, who surely would not want to associate with Japan anymore after Japan’s Boss carried out his new plan to keep America out of the war.  The thought of bombing America as nothing more than a show of strength left Japan with a bitter taste in his mouth. He knew it would be painful for his friend-- _ no, enemy _ , he corrected himself--but if it would keep America from joining the war, shortening it and thereby preventing needless loss of life, he could agree to it.  This was certainly not the first time Japan had lost a friend for the sake of the greater good, and it wouldn’t be the last. 

Upon their first meeting, America had come to Japan with large guns and larger demands, and Japan had been in no place to argue.  Resentment had burned in the back of Japan’s mind for that for a quite a while. Soon, though, America had begun to show Japan interesting food and art and technology--apparently Westerners had mastered the art of communicating with the spirit world through inconspicuous wooden tables--and Japan had revealed parts of himself and his culture to America that he had not shown the world in decades.  With America, however, came England and Russia. Japan liked England somewhat, but they did not get along nearly as well as he and America did. Their relationship was almost entirely business. And Russia...

Japan suppressed a shudder.  Several times, Russia had shown up at Japan’s door uninvited, always asking for more than Japan was willing to give at too low a price.  He was almost glad when they went to war just so he wouldn’t be forced to endure another tense cup of tea sitting across from frozen-faced Russia.  Every time their eyes met, Japan saw a hunger in him that made his blood run cold. He knew that Russia’s people were hungry. He knew that Russia himself was hungry, too.  Japan was sure that if he could peer into Russia’s soul, he would see fear and pain and wrath just as clearly as one could see Russia’s ribs outlined against his cold skin. 

Japan sighed and leaned against the side of Germany’s desk, centering his thoughts.  He supposed he should inform Germany and Italy of his Boss’s plan for America so that they wouldn’t be taken by surprise when it happened, but sudden reluctance kept him rooted to the spot.  It wasn’t that he didn’t trust Germany and Italy with knowledge of his attack plans. Quite to the contrary, he felt that they had every right to know. Japan traced his eyes absently over the map on the wall in front of him as he considered that perhaps his own distaste for the plan was the cause for his hesitancy to tell his allies about it rather than any fault of theirs.  

Tired of stalling, Japan left the office and found Germany attempting to bury his worry in a book, which he clapped shut as soon as Japan entered the room.  “You look troubled,” Germany stated. “Is everything alright?”

Immediately Japan schooled his expression into a more neutral one.  He decided it might be wise to hide his sympathy towards America from Germany, at least for the time being.  Sympathizing with the enemy was not something Germany would likely take well, especially from someone who had recently been his enemy.  “My Boss has informed me that in order to deter the Americans from entering the war, my country will demonstrate its might by bombing one of America’s military bases.”

Germany looked doubtful.  “I suppose that makes sense,” he said, “but aren’t you concerned that such an action might provoke them to fight instead?”

Silence filled the air as Japan weighed truth against risk.  “I have many concerns, if I might be honest with you, Mr. Germany,” Japan admitted after a long pause, thinking how to best place his words to conceal the half of his heart that would do anything if it meant he didn’t have to lose another friend to conflict.  “But that makes no difference. My Boss is determined to carry out this plan with or without my consent. I hope you understand.”

Germany nodded.  “Yes, I understand that particular trouble well. Bosses can be very...” He frowned, searching for the right word.  “Independent.”

Despite the delicacy of the topic, Japan decided to risk delving further into it.  He was cautiously hopeful that he could at least be honest with Germany when it came to how they felt about their Bosses.  “You do not always agree with your superiors either,” Japan stated, a hint of questioning in his voice. 

“That is correct,”  Germany replied solemnly, remembering the discussion he had had with Italy the night before.  “Please don’t misunderstand me; I do trust my Boss. Of course I do, but…” He lowered his voice to a near whisper, almost as though he feared someone other than Japan might be listening.  “My new Boss has suggested some… troubling things, Japan. Many of my people trust him greatly, as I do, but there are others. I can feel their fear growing within me, and it makes me wonder if I should perhaps try harder to resist.”

Japan’s eyes widened slightly at the suggestion.  “Forgive me for being so bold, Mr. Germany, but would it not be better to continue to work with your Boss, at least until the war is over?  It is only natural for some of your people to be afraid during times such as these,” Japan said. “Please keep in mind that if by resisting your Boss you were to fall into a civil conflict, Italy and I would likely be dragged under as well.” 

A dissatisfied hum escaped Germany’s throat.  “Yes, I suppose you do raise some good points.”  Relief was evident on Japan’s face. “Though I’ll do my best to ignore them, I still have my doubts, and if I’m correct, you do too.  You don’t seem to be at ease with the plan of bombing America, Japan.”

The sudden thud of bags hitting the floor cut off Japan’s reply.  He and Germany whipped their heads around to find Italy hovering in the doorway with his mouth hanging open.  “Bombs?” cried Italy, distraught. “America is really loud and obnoxious but he’s really not a bad guy and he’s not even in this war so why would you try to hurt him like that Japan?”

Japan felt a stab of guilt at Italy’s words. “Mr. Italy, please, try to relax,” he pleaded.  Distressed fidgeting was his response. “We are going to drop the bombs on Mr. America’s land in hopes that he will not enter the war, because if we show him how powerful we are, he might not want to get involved.”

Italy blinked and brightened somewhat.  “Oh, so if we show him how strong and scary we can be, he’ll get scared and run away?  I kind of like that plan! I know I would run away if you guys tried to attack me,” Italy said, all his qualms forgotten. Japan smiled softly, although it almost wavered into a grimace of dismay at his ally’s tendency to flee before the battle was even finished. 

“You know Italy, as far as support goes, that’s not very… ah, never mind it,” Germany sighed, resigned.  “Anyway, you got back here rather quickly. I’m almost impressed.” Although he spoke the truth, he also couldn’t help wondering with some discomfort how long Italy had been standing there and how much of the conversation he had been having with Japan he had heard.  Japan, on the other hand, was simply relieved to have the subject changed. “I thought you should have been gone an hour or more.” 

“I ran all the way there and all the way back,” Italy explained proudly.  Then he bent down to rifle through one of his bags and unearthed a hand-made uniform with “Trooper 1” stitched across the front, which he held out for all to see.  “Look! I even remembered my uniform!”

_ Well that looks rather silly,  _ Japan thought to himself, wondering who would have taken the time to make such a garment.  He glanced at Germany, who at the moment seemed to be rather pleased with Italy’s efforts.  _ Surely it could not have been made by… No… _

“Ah yes, I almost forgot!” Germany said, standing.  “I made one for you as well, Japan.” Germany disappeared into a room, and by the time Japan had finally processed with great disbelief that Germany had expended actual effort to make such a tacky thing, he had returned with a uniform identical to Italy’s except for the patch that said “Trooper 2” that was sewn onto the front.  He presented this to Japan, looking pleased with himself.

Japan, inwardly cringing, bowed graciously and took the offending article of clothing in his hands.  “I am honored to accept this gift, Mr. Germany. I will wear it with pride.”

“I’m glad you like it,” replied Germany, satisfied.  “You’ll be able to wear it soon enough, I think. We will begin training today at ten o’clock, sharp!” 

***

Training with Germany was much harder than Japan had anticipated.  Whereas Italy was already familiar with Germany’s commands and forms of discipline, Japan struggled to catch on.  Although he could tell Germany was trying to be patient with him, he could clearly see that he was becoming frustrated.  Italy’s incessant interruptions and rule-breaking combined with an unrelenting wind did naught to help his mood. Again and again Germany would call for another lap around the yard, or ten more push-ups, or perhaps a few more sit-ups, all the while questioning Japan and Italy about certain wartime scenarios and the proper course of action that went along with them as they exercised.  

Japan noticed through the wind and sweat that Germany tended to ask him more complicated questions than he asked Italy, and although Japan was able to answer several of them correctly, he got many of them wrong.  Although he understood that Germany expected less from Italy, he couldn’t help but feel frustrated as Italy failed to answer many of the simplified questions Germany gave to him. However, he also felt as proud as Italy looked when either one of them finally got something right.  Just when Japan thought his head would combust from the frustration at answering wrongly over and over and that his arms and legs were sure to fall off from all the exertion, Germany called for them to stop.

“Oh, thank goodness,” muttered Japan breathlessly, resting his hands on his knees.  “I thought we might never--”

“It is time for hand to hand combat!” Germany barked, eliciting a groan from his troops.  He was fully immersed in his role of commander by this point and showed no signs of easing up anytime soon.  “Stop your whining! Do you think the enemy will wait until you are well-rested to attack? No! They will strike when you are exhausted, sick, or wounded.  Italy, you and I will spar together first as a demonstration for Japan.”

The blood drained from Japan’s face.  It had been centuries since he had been in a fight with another nation barehanded, and Germany was so strong and large compared to Japan that he wondered if victory were a possibility without a weapon.  He refused to give up without a fight, though, and resolved to utilize all the skills he knew.

He watched intently as Italy and Germany squared off in a dirt clearing marked by a trio of late daffodils that whipped back and forth violently with every gust of wind.  Italy seemed to be shaking even more intensely than the flowers with the effort it was costing him not to run away, and Germany looked as though he could snap Italy in two.  Germany made the first move, attempting to tackle Italy, and Japan was surprised to see that Italy dodged him. Swiftly, Italy rolled to the side and made a swipe at Germany’s legs.  The kick landed, but it was not forceful enough to knock Germany off balance. To have Italy on the ground and himself on two feet put Germany at even more of an advantage. 

Italy let out a startled cry as Germany charged at him once more, clearly holding back.  Italy was able to scramble to his feet just in time to avoid Germany. “Very good! You’re back on your feet!  Now, what must you do while my back is turned?” shouted Germany, opening himself up for a counterattack. 

The question stumped Italy.  “Uh,” he said, slowing. “I…” he considered, brows furrowed.  Germany waited with his back turned, praying to whatever deity might listen that Italy would never find himself in this situation with an enemy. “I… I run!” With that, Italy took off past Japan towards the house.  

Germany groaned and began sprinting after Italy.  Italy could have easily outpaced him, except he tripped over his untied shoelace before he made it more than a short distance away.  Germany hoisted Italy up by the back of his uniform and all but dragged him back to the sparring circle as Italy spouted things like “You win! I surrender! I’m sorry, Captain!  I surrender!”

Germany sighed deeply and rubbed his temples.  “When I had my back turned, you should have attacked me,” he explained.  “Instead, you tried to run away, and you were caught.” Germany neglected to mention that Italy could outrun nearly anyone under most circumstances, given the proper motivation.  Teaching Italy how to defend himself was the goal here, after all. “You have made some improvements though,” Germany continued, and Italy listened attentively. “You landed a hit on me this time.  If you try to knock me off balance again in the future, as I suspect you were trying to do, you should aim for the backs of my knees rather than my feet, understand?”

“Yes sir!” Italy saluted, committing the instruction to memory.  As much as it terrified him, Italy wanted to be stronger so that he could protect Germany and Japan from anyone and everyone who might try to hurt them.   _ Maybe if I get big and strong like Germany,  _ Italy thought, _ He’ll see that he doesn’t have to be the most powerful nation in the world, because he has such strong friends to protect him! And maybe he won’t be so afraid, and maybe-- _

“Japan, your turn!”  Germany, having hardly broken a sweat, was ready for round two.  Japan nodded, steeling his courage. Ever perceptive, the fact that Germany had sparred lightly with Italy just as he had gone easy with the questions earlier did not escape Japan. He prepared himself for a much more intense match than the one he had just witnessed.  “Are you ready?”

Italy stood by the sidelines near the three daffodils, fidgeting in nervousness and excitement.  He had never watched Germany spar with anyone else before, and he was curious to see how Japan would fight.  Japan inhaled through his nose and breathed out through his mouth, focusing. His feet squared and arms raised defensively, he looked Germany in the eye and nodded.  Germany took a similar stance, then, and the wind blew past them as each waited for the other to move.

The last time they had fought, both had been armed with the intent to seriously injure the other, and as their eyes locked, both felt the old tensions bubble up in them. Suddenly Germany roared as he charged forwards in attack.  This was not the same clumsy charge as before, but something with more precision and intent. Japan barely dodged him and aimed a jab at Germany’s ribs, but Germany had predicted the move and slapped Japan’s arm away before the blow struck.  

With quick reflexes, Japan grabbed Germany’s arm and successfully flipped him, tossing him to the ground with a harsh thud.  Winded, Germany struggled for only a moment before he was back on his feet and thrusting a harsh kick towards Japan’s chest, which instead caught him on the shoulder and knocked him backwards with a grunt.  The wind howled around them, fanning the flames of combat in their eyes. Italy stood by, biting his nails as the daffodils cheered silently.

Germany pulled his fist back to hit Japan in the gut, but Japan countered and missed elbowing Germany in the chest by a hair’s breadth.  Germany felt the heat of the battle begin to consume him. He hadn’t been in a fight this intense in years, and with each dodge and parry, he found that he had to keep reminding himself that it was not an enemy that stood before him, but an ally.

Japan, too, found it difficult to keep his attacks in check.  Sometimes he pulled his punches just a moment too late or forgot to soften his blows.  The line between simple sparring match and all-out brawl was blurring for both of them as their past fights came to the surface there in the sparring circle.  Despite the intensity of it all, it was somehow freeing. The pair was evenly matched in a fight. The stamina and flexibility that were Germany’s strengths were easily countered by Japan’s agility and precision.  While Germany could strike again and again without tiring, Japan could compress just as much energy into a single blow.

As they fought, however, something within them both shifted, and they began to smile.

Sweat dripped down their bodies and mingled with the dust that surrounded them, but somewhere in midst of combat, Japan and Germany found that they respected and admired the other all the more.  However, no nation could last forever in a fight, and they eventually began to grow weary. Their movements slowed and breaths grew ragged, but neither wanted to quit until a clear winner had been established. 

Japan gave Germany a swift kick to the gut, but pulled away too slowly.  Germany seized Japan’s leg, sending Japan hurtling to the ground. He landed hard on his back, crushing two of the three daffodils beneath him.  A shadow fell over Japan as Germany loomed above him, ready for victory. Wasting no time, Germany placed a firm hand on Japan’s chest, pulled his fist back, and--

“Germany, stop!”

Italy’s startled cry was enough to distract Germany just long enough for Japan to flip him.  Just like that, Germany was pinned, and the battle was over.

Japan released Germany and offered him a hand up, which Germany graciously accepted.  Germany turned to Italy with a scowl that held no real anger and said, “Why did you yell at me to stop?  I wasn’t actually going to hurt him, you know.” 

Italy shifted on his feet and held his elbow.  “It looked kind of like you were about to beat his face in, and I like Japan’s face, and the rest of him too! So I couldn’t let you do that or else we would be short a Japan--wait, wait!  I didn’t mean that like a short joke or anything, honest, Japan!”

Italy looked worriedly to Japan, who did not seem to be the least bit offended.  To the contrary, he looked quite pleased with himself despite the sweat and dirt smeared across his face.  “You may put your fears to rest, Mr. Italy. Mr. Germany meant me no harm. I am glad for that, too, otherwise I would have been in trouble.”  Japan turned to Germany, who tried to hide his flattered smile.

“I’ve never seen anyone fight like that before,” said Italy with a nervous little laugh. Italy had been watching intently, at times frightened for Japan or Germany or both of them at once.  When Japan had fallen at the end, he simply couldn’t bear to watch him being beaten while he was down, certainly not by Germany! After seeing Germany and Japan fight so skillfully against each other, his small improvements from earlier suddenly seemed so much smaller, and his allies all the more frightening to him.  “I’m glad we’re all on the same side, too,” he continued, forcing lightheartedness into his voice. “I don’t think I could fight like that in a million years.”

“Italy, it is your turn to spar with Japan.”

“What?”  Italy blanched, his eyes widening.  He raised his hands in front of himself defensively and took a few steps backwards.  “Haha, that’s a funny joke, Germany! But you really need to work on your sense of humor, because I don’t think--”

“You know I do not joke when it comes to training, Italy,” said Germany. Japan gave Germany a questioning look, but Germany just shook his head and barked, “Now, take your positions, both of you!”  Italy thought he saw Germany murmur something into Japan’s ear as he walked out of the ring, but he couldn’t be sure for how fiercely he was trembling.

Italy looked to Japan’s eyes expecting to see the same hardness that had been there when he had been sparring with Germany, but it was not there.  Instead, there was a calm softness that stilled Italy’s shaking, if only just a bit, and reminded him that they were still allies, after all. “You may make the first move whenever you are ready, Mr. Italy,” called Japan from across the ring, still working to catch his breath.  He was exhausted from his earlier fight, but he felt that he had enough energy left in him for this one last thing.

Italy seriously considered making a break for it, but one glance at Germany, who stood watching like a pillar, told him that he wouldn’t get far.  That idea squashed, he tried to remember his training and looked to Japan’s stance for cues on how to attack him. Japan had his arms raised high in front of him, exposing his belly.  Swallowing his nerves, Italy ran towards Japan and aimed for his ribs. Japan easily swatted away this first attack, but Italy was still on his feet, which meant he had hope. Determined, Italy aimed another punch and was again deflected.  Now Italy was becoming discouraged, but then an opening appeared in Japan’s defenses that Italy hadn’t seen before. He swung his leg for Japan’s knees and--success! Japan came tumbling down with a grunt.

A wide array of emotions flitted quickly across Italy’s face--at first, shock, disbelief, amazement, cheer, but then concern, followed quickly by guilt.  Italy crouched down and placed a tentative hand on Japan’s shoulder. “Japan! Are you hurt at all? I didn’t hurt you, did I? Are you alright, Japan?”

Japan got to his feet and smiled softly at Italy, brushing the dust off his uniform.  “I believe I will pull through. Thank you for sparring with me, Mr. Italy. I am honored to have been your opponent.”  At this Japan bowed slightly, conceding defeat. Blush crept over Italy’s cheeks just as it had over Germany’s when Japan had complimented him earlier.  It seemed nobody was immune to the power of Japan’s sincerity.

The afternoon sun was shining high in the sky, and the wind had calmed to a gentle breeze.  “I believe that has been enough for today,” announced Germany. The exhaustion of the day immediately claimed Japan and Germany at the realization that they were done for the day, but Italy seemed to have hit his second wind.  He first ran to Germany and wrapped him in a sweaty, crushing embrace. It had taken Germany several training sessions to become accustomed to Italy’s habit of indulging in a post-training hug, but now he had come to expect and even welcome it.  If he were honest with himself, he might admit that the extra affection Italy peppered throughout his life did his disposition some good.

Next Italy ran to Japan.  Japan tensed as he prepared for impact, but Italy stopped short and, rather than wrapping Japan in his arms, held out his hand.   _ Ah, _ thought Japan as Italy stood, waiting and hopeful, _ just a… a handshake.  Westerners. I have not done this in a long while.   _ Carefully, Japan squeezed Italy’s hand.  Italy grinned widely and took Japan’s hand in both of his, shaking it gently.  Japan found the experience odd, but not entirely unpleasant. He decided that if handshakes were what it took to bring Italy happiness, he could tolerate them.  Having collected his hug and his handshake, Italy skipped gleefully towards the house, chattering about all his grandiose plans for the evening.

In that moment, there was peace.

Together the three of them left the sparring circle behind them, and the lonely daffodil waved farewell from beside its fallen friends.


	5. Simulations and Situations

“Good morning, Mr. Germany” yawned Japan as he shuffled into the sitting room, fully dressed but only partially awake.  Yesterday’s training had him sore all over, and forcing himself out of the warm, comfortable bed that Germany had provided for him had proven to be a difficult task.  Even Germany had lingered in his bed for an extra minute or two before eventually wandering down to the kitchen for coffee and toast.

“Ah, good morning Japan,” said Germany in reply.  “Did you sleep soundly?”

“Yes, thank you,” Japan muttered, glancing to the window where the first rays of morning light were reaching towards him through the glass.  For a long minute he stood there, simply watching the peaceful dawn take its shape as the ache of sleep filtered down through his old bones.

He had almost forgotten Germany was there until Germany coughed and said, “Would you like something to eat?”

Japan blinked as if newly awakened.  “Yes, thank you,” he repeated. Suppressing another yawn, he drowsily followed Germany into the kitchen.

A few minutes later, sausages were just beginning to sizzle on the stove.  Japan felt his stomach rumble impatiently at the smell. “I suppose Mr. Italy is asleep, still,” he said, following Germany’s movements with sleepy eyes.  “Do you think we should wake him up soon so that he does not miss breakfast?”

“That one does seem to enjoy his sleep,” Germany mused.  “If he hasn’t come downstairs by the time this is done, I’ll go make sure he’s awake.”

Naturally, Germany found himself going to wake Italy soon thereafter.  He was sleeping so heavily that Germany had to jostle him awake, and even then it took Italy several long seconds to come around.  Eventually his eyes fluttered open, and he yawned, smiling.

“Good morning, Germany,” he said, and sat up.  As he did, the blanket that had been covering Italy slid down his torso, revealing several purpling bruises on his chest--Greece’s parting gift.  The bruises weren’t cause for worry, but Germany couldn’t suppress a flicker of guilt for not having done more to prevent them.

“Oh, good.  You’re awake,” he said, ignoring the bruises.  “There’s breakfast waiting for you downstairs. It might get cold if you don’t hurry.”

“Breakfast?”  Italy exclaimed, his sleepiness pushed aside as the smell of sausage tickled his nose.  With a grand flinging away of his blankets, Italy was out of bed the next instant. He began throwing on his clothes.  He was not covered before it was made quite apparent to Germany that Italy enjoyed sleeping in the nude.

Germany instinctively looked away for privacy’s sake.  “You might want to wear your training uniform, since we’ll be starting before too long anyway,” said Germany as he studied a painting that hung on the wall.  It portrayed a lotus-filled pond that was overlooked by an ancient, drooping tree. Against the tree leaned an abandoned push broom, barely visible through some vines.   “It saves you the trouble of changing again, at least.”

“I’m still sore from yesterday,” Italy whined, mostly to himself.

Germany scoffed.  “The pain is your body telling you you need to exercise more.”  When Italy grunted disapprovingly, he added, “You’ll feel better by the end of the week, once your body has adjusted to the activity.”

“Whatever you say, Captain,” Italy replied teasingly.

Germany rolled his eyes.  “Hurry up and put on some pants.”

***

After yesterday’s grueling session, Japan had hoped that Germany wouldn’t work them as hard as he had the day before.  Rather, Germany pushed them even harder. Having a second student seemed to motivate him to be a stricter teacher. The questions were harder, the exercises more strenuous, and both Japan and Italy felt as though they had somehow regressed by the time they broke for lunch.

“I am almost afraid to ask,” Japan said hesitantly after they had all had a little food, “but what will we be doing after we finish eating?”

Germany swallowed down a bite and replied, “We will be practicing marksmanship, which reminds me,” he said, suddenly perturbed.  “I’m not sure I have enough rifles.”

“Does that mean we get to quit training early?” Italy chirped, voice full of hope.

“No, Italy.”  Germany rested his chin on his fist and frowned.  “I could have you both share one, but that would be far from efficient.”  He stared concentratedly into the wood of the table as though the answer to his problem were etched into the grains.  “This could have all been avoided had I not been so careless as to forget,” he said, wondering if perhaps the war were doing things to his mind. “As much as I hate to do this… No, it must be done,” he sighed in defeat.  Italy and Japan looked to each other with concern as Germany got to his feet. “Please excuse me. I’ll be back in just a few minutes.” Without further explanation, he left through the front door.

“What do you think that was all about?” Japan asked, bewildered.

“It doesn’t sound like much fun, whatever it is,” said Italy, just as confused.  He bit the inside of his cheek anxiously. “The way he was talking… What if he’s gone off to prepare some terrible exercise for us to do, Japan?” Italy cried.

“That seems unlikely, given that he was just talking about rifles,” said Japan calmly, which seemed to soothe Italy’s nerves somewhat.  “Besides, I doubt that Mr. Germany would have us do anything that he knew we could not handle.” Japan tried to reassure Italy, but Italy’s distress unnerved him.  Suddenly doubtful, he added softly, “Would he?”

Italy shook his head and breathed out.  “No, no, you’re right,” he said. “Germany wouldn’t do something like that.”  Japan blinked, surprised at Italy’s sudden calm, and waited for him to continue.  “He can be harsh sometimes, but he knows how much we can take, I think. It’s like how when we’re training, he doesn’t ask me those really difficult questions like the ones he asks you,” he said, smiling softly.  “He knows I’m not as good at strategy and all that as you are.” 

“Forgive me if I sound rude,” said Japan carefully.  “But does it not bother you to be treated as though you are incapable?”

“I guess it might if I didn’t understand why he does it,” Italy explained.  “He gives me the questions he does because he knows I need the practice and believes I can learn, not because he thinks I’m stupid or something.”  Italy laughed, light and bubbly. “At least, that’s what I think. He’s never been one to keep quiet when he thinks I’m being dumb, you know?”

Japan smiled, amused, and thought Italy very strange.

Just at that moment, the front door came crashing open.

“--for a whole week and you didn’t even tell me.  Honestly, West, I’m hurt.”

“Verdammt, Gilbert, don’t kick the door like that!  I just repainted it.”

“What am I supposed to do when my arms are full like this?” Prussia loudly complained.  Italy and Japan, still rather stunned, saw that he had indeed spoken the truth; boxes of ammunition were stacked dangerously high in Prussia’s arms.  His hands, too, were busy strangling two rifles by their necks. Germany was likewise burdened, except for the little yellow bird that was tittering curiously in his hair.  “You totally owe me a beer for this, little brother.”

“You’ll get your beer,” Germany assured him, exasperated, and dropped his load unceremoniously onto the nearest piece of furniture with a huff.  Prussia followed suit, and almost immediately he found himself wrapped up in Italy’s crushing embrace.

“I haven’t seen you in forever!” Italy exclaimed as he hugged Prussia tightly and kissed both of his cheeks in greeting.

“What’s it been?  A decade?” Prussia laughed.  He returned the hug with equal force and swung Italy around once before placing him firmly back on the ground.  “And Japan, too!” he said, flashing his toothy grin at Japan. “I haven’t seen you in so long I was beginning to wonder if you’d disappeared.”

“It has been too long, Mr. Prussia,” said Japan with a bow.  “I am pleased to see you again.” When he straightened, he glanced at the little bird that had followed him inside and said, “I see you have at least one steady companion.”

Prussia beamed in the bird’s direction.  “We have been together a while now, haven’t we?  I wonder how many years it’s been…”

“Forever, as far as I know,” Germany shrugged.  “That canary might as well be a phoenix.”

“He’s not a canary, West.  Or a phoenix,” Prussia corrected him.  “He’s an eagle!” Japan and Germany cast doubtful stares at the bird, which had settled for pecking at the laces of Italy’s boots.  Italy was entirely charmed and oblivious to Prussia’s declaration. When Prussia saw that he had fooled no one, he said, “So, you guys are here for the week, huh?”

“Ah, yes,” said Japan, brightening.  “Mr. Germany has kindly agreed to help us train together.  Will you be assisting us today, Mr. Prussia?”

“Well, since you asked so nicely,” Prussia threw his hands behind his head, “I guess I could give you a few pointers.”  Germany let out a long, beleaguered sigh. “Why, I used to train West when he was a little boy, and I even helped out that America kid a while--”  Prussia fell rather suddenly into a coughing fit. His words were lost as he began hacking painfully into the crook of his elbow, earning several concerned stares from those around him.

“Hey, are you okay?”  Italy asked worriedly

“I’m f--” Prussia’s words were broken by another few coughs.  When they subsided, he took a wheezy breath and tried again. “I’m fine,” he said hoarsely, wiping at his mouth.  As though to prove his point, he stood up straighter and cleared his throat. “Just got a little choked on some dust, is all,” he said.  “I guess someone’s behind on the cleaning, eh West?” he joked, despite his clearly spotless surroundings. The others only looked at him skeptically, except for Germany, whose face was blank.

Germany said flatly, “I’ll be sure to do a better job with the dusting, then.”  His brightened not a lumen as he said, “Thank you for loaning me these things, brother.  I truly appreciate it.” At this he walked to the door and held it open. “However, I’m sure you want to finish that nap you were having, so I’ll let you get back to your rest.”

Prussia scoffed.  “I said I was staying, and I meant it.  You think I’m going to leave and let you guys have all the fun?”

Germany was rather disgruntled by these words and retorted, “It isn’t fun, it’s training.”

“Gott, West, did I really train you so harshly that that’s what you think?” Prussia shot back, sounding almost hurt.  “Besides, I’m the one who taught you how to use these things in the first place,” he said, poking haphazardly at the neck of a rifle.  “If anyone should be in charge of training these two, it should be me.”

Germany glared, and in that moment Italy and Japan became witnesses to what they could only describe as a telepathic conversation held in angry German tones.

“Fine,” said Germany, putting an end to the heated, silent discussion.  “You can help, but let me make one thing clear. These are my troops, and what I say goes.  Am I understood?”

Despite Germany’s tone, Prussia was grinning victoriously.  “Loud and clear, little brother. Now come on, we’re wasting daylight!”

In a whirlwind of Prussia's enthusiasm, the rifles and ammunition and bird and troopers alike were swept once more out to the dusty training field behind Germany’s house.

“To begin, we will be doing simple target practice,” announced Germany as he distributed the arms amongst the four of them.  Italy took his gun with an excited grin; Japan would have much preferred a weapon that didn't feel quite so loud and new. “You'll notice that the trees over there have targets fixed to their trunks,” said Germany.  “We will assess your accuracy at the distances I have marked in the dirt.”

Italy and Japan looked to their feet and discovered a long gouge in the dirt a short distance away.  These marks continued in equal intervals towards the distant tree line where bright red and white targets could be seen as pinpricks of color against the far-off woods.

“Last one to get a bullseye’s a loser!” Prussia chanted, already loading up his weapon.

Germany’s eye twitched.  “I'm sure you both know your way around a rifle, so I won’t bother with the very basics,” he said to Italy and Japan, refusing to encourage his brother with attention.  “These rifles are the latest models, so show me what you can do with them. Oh, and take these earplugs,” he added. “They will make it harder to hear, but you’ll be grateful for them once we start firing.”

Japan and Italy nodded and shoved the little buds into their ears.  Italy frowned at the strange pressure in his ears. “These won’t come shooting out if I sneeze, right?” he said to no one in particular.  “Ha, I sound like I’m under water!” he laughed, poking at the earplugs. Japan simply smiled at him and looked as though he quite enjoyed the quiet.  Germany felt very tired. Once Italy had somewhat acclimated himself to the buds, he yelled, “So, who gets to go first?”

Prussia immediately volunteered.  “Somebody has to show you all how it’s done, so I’ll go first!”  Germany rolled his eyes, but despite himself, he let his older brother slip into the familiar role of tutor.  “Whether you think you know them or not, we’re starting with fundamentals! Remember, when you’re aiming, it’s important to keep your breathing steady and your aim level, or you might end up putting a hole in something that doesn’t need a hole in it, understand?” Prussia explained loudly as he took aim.  His bird was perched faithfully on top of his head. “Make sure you take the wind and terrain into account and don’t let the sun blind you. But of course, the best way to hit the target--” a shot resonated through the air. “--is to be me.”

In the same instant, both Prussia and Germany produced binoculars from their pockets and squinted through them at the targets.  After a few silent seconds of searching, Prussia exclaimed, “See, right in the center.”

Germany snorted.  “Not likely. That’s an old hole.  Look, the rounds we’re using are too big to make a mark that small.”  With that he held up a bullet. Prussia snatched it out of his fingers and squinted at it, then pressed his face to his binoculars once more.  He scoffed.

“If that’s not mine, then where did mine hit?”

“Maybe you missed.”

“Maybe you’re in denial,” Prussia retorted.  “I understand, West. It’s hard not being able to live up to my greatness, especially when I can aim like that.”

“All this talk of denial when you clearly believe your bullet shrunk somewhere between here and the woods.”  Germany sauntered over to a line in the dirt. “Here, I’ll prove it to you.” In a few short movements Germany lifted his rifle, took aim, and fired.

Italy and Japan watched patiently as the brothers once again peered through their binoculars towards the trees.  A little grin broke out on Germany’s face. “Bullseye.”

“More like bull shit,” Prussia returned.  “I’ve seen you take better aim with a piss.”

“Whatever your failing vision tells you, I hope you can clearly see that these rounds produce bigger holes,” said Germany.  “Or perhaps I should send you to an optometrist?”

“Uh, Captain?”

Germany turned around, and with a great wave of embarrassment he remembered his troops.  He cleared his throat and hoped the red didn’t creep too far along his face. “Italy, Japan, yes,” he said, recovering himself.  “Come over here and fire three rounds into that clean target over there. We don’t want any more confusion.”

“Right,” replied Italy with a short nod.  He took a few confident steps past Japan, who was trying to remember the last time he had handled a gun, and readied his posture at the line.

Italy peered down his sight, but just as he did so, Germany said, “Wait just a moment.”

Everyone looked to Germany.  “Is there something wrong, Captain?” Italy asked, lowering his weapon once more.

“Put the rifle back up like you had it just now--yes like that,” Germany instructed loudly as to be heard through their hearing protection.  “Your posture is excellent, but you should relax your left shoulder a little.” He posed Italy’s arms with a few gentle touches. “Very good.  And your hands--move your thumb to the--no not quite. Here, let me just--”

Japan was far too busy making note of the corrections Germany was making to Italy’s posture to notice if his hands lingered for perhaps a moment too long.

Finally, when all the adjustments had been made, Germany stepped back.  Italy wore an expression of focus that seemed out of place on him. He took a slow breath and fired three times.  

As they had done before, Germany and Prussia gazed through their binoculars towards the targets.  “Well, how did I do?” Italy insisted, his intense focus gone.

Prussia gave a huff of amusement.  “Well I’ll be damned,” he said. “You’re not too bad, Italy.  Here, look.” With that, he passed off his binoculars to Italy, who excitedly took them to look at his shots.  He saw that all three were clustered around the center of the target, all within respectable proximity of the bullseye.   

“Very well indeed,” Germany agreed, quite pleased.  Italy beamed as Prussia mussed his hair with one gloved hand.  Germany was not one to celebrate any matter for long, however, and was quick to move the training session along.  “Japan, you’re up.”

Japan nodded and solemnly took his place.  He aimed at the next clean target, doing his best to mimic Italy’s pose.  As he had done for Italy, Germany began to make corrections.

“Almost perfect,” he noted.  “Except you need to move your hand-- yes just like that.”  Germany nodded with approval as Japan corrected himself. “You may fire whenever you’re ready.”

Japan allowed himself a few steadying breaths to focus himself.  He cast his gaze down the sight, lining it up with the target. He held his breath and fired just once.  Japan exhaled and said, “May I use your binoculars, Mr. Germany? I believe I may need to adjust my aim.”  Germany complied, and Japan noted with disappointment that he had nearly missed the target entirely. 

Determined to prove his competency, he tried again.  The rifle sat lightly against his shoulder, carefully placed exactly as it had been before.  Japan held his breath and loosed another bullet towards the trees. Another glance through the dusty binoculars told him that he had overcorrected; the bullet was far to the opposite side of the target.  Prussia watched his progress all the while, mischief curdling his lips into a devious smile.

Japan exhaled deeply.  He would hit the center this time.  He would recover from his mistakes and prove himself a worthy ally.  Japan felt Germany’s judging gaze on his back, and he refused to allow himself to seem incapable.  The sounds around him shrank until he could hear only the space between his ear plugs, and he peered down the length of his rifle for one last shot.  Easy breath flowed through him; he was calm, still as a statue, and he placed his finger over the trigger.

So focused was he that he did not hear Prussia rush up behind him.  “Don’t miss!” Prussia shrieked as he dug his fingertips into Japan’s sides, which in turn produced an incredible squeal from Japan, who pulled the trigger in his fright, sending a shot flying towards the trees.  In the span of a second, Japan reflexively whirled around, kneed Prussia in the gut, and put him into a choke hold with his rifle.

Japan did not realize his attacker’s identity until he was all but strangling Prussia, whose cackles were coming out in choked gasps by this point.  When after a second Japan processed what had happened, his face quickly turned scarlet. He thrust Prussia away from himself and crossed his arms defensively.  “Why did you do that?” He shouted, more agitated than any of them had seen him before. “I could have shot you, or anyone else!”

“And you would have deserved it, too,” growled Germany, stalking over to his brother.  “What the hell did you think you were doing, sneaking up on Japan like that?”

It took Prussia several laborious seconds to get his laughter in check before he could respond.  “Don’t--don’t be mad at me,” he said, choking back giggles. Japan scowled, and Germany looked like he might throw a punch.  Seeing this, Prussia worked a little harder to control himself. He cleared his throat. “Listen, listen. I know it looks like I did that for shits and giggles--God knows I’ll be laughing about that sound he made for as long as I live.  Seriously Japan, last time I heard that noise it was coming out of a raccoon in heat--”

“Prussia!”

“Sorry!  Sorry. Look, as hilarious as that was, I didn’t just do that for fun, okay?  I saw how focused you were on that target, Japan. You had tunnel vision so severe that I could have come stomping behind you throwing firecrackers and you wouldn’t have noticed,” Prussia said, growing serious.  “On the battlefield, someone much less friendly than me could have done it, too.”

The scowl on Japan’s face loosened as the realization of his error hit him.  Germany, too, knew that Prussia had a point, although he hardly approved of his teaching methods.

Italy, meanwhile, was peering through Prussia’s binoculars towards the targets with a smile on his face.  “Hey Japan! Guess what?” They all turned to look at Italy. “You got a bullseye!”

All at once, Japan dissolved into a fit of laughter so intense that his knees grew weak and his eyes began to water.  “You said--you said, ‘Don’t miss,’” he wheezed, amused beyond reason, and in a moment Prussia was cackling too, coughing now and again, taken in by the absurdity of it.  Germany, suddenly overcome with relief that his new ally had taken his brother’s shenanigans in stride, began laughing along as well--at least, he hoped Japan wasn’t having some sort of breakdown.  Italy, too, joined them, glad to see everyone so happy for once.

“I believe it would be best if we moved on from this task, for now,” said Germany once everyone had regained some semblance of control.  “Please strip your rifles.”

Prussia suddenly looked as though he were attempting to swallow a swarm of bees.  “Hey did you hear that, Ita?” Prussia whispered loudly to Italy, trying fiercely to hold back his laughter.  “West wants to watch you strip.”

“Uh,” replied Italy, face rosy.  “I don’t think that’s what he meant…”

Germany, rather, replied by slapping his older brother in the back of the head.  Despite this, Prussia kept snickering.

“Could you remind me how to do that, Mr. Germany?” Japan asked, glancing between Germany and Prussia.  “Er, how to strip the rifle, I mean,” he clarified.

“Of course,” answered Germany, and he slowly began taking his rifle apart.  “See, you begin by--”

“Wow Japan, that was forward,” Prussia interrupted.  “Asking Germany to strip for you, in front of his own brother!  I didn’t know you were so--”

“Prussia!” Germany bellowed as Japan’s cheeks once again went bright red.  “I would like a word with you. Now.”

Prussia didn’t even have the decency to look sheepish as Germany led him out of earshot of Italy and Japan.  “Is something the matter, little brother?”

“Gilbert, what in God’s name do you believe you are accomplishing here?” Germany ground out through gritted teeth.  “So far you’ve interrupted training, frightened Japan, and somehow you even embarrassed Italy, of all people, so please quit alienating my allies, make yourself useful, and go walk my dogs.”  

“Fine, fine, I’ll walk your dogs.  I love your dogs,” said Prussia placatingly.  When Germany looked only slightly less likely to strangle him in his sleep, he added,  “You’ll think it’s funny later, West. You always do.”

“I will be in a much better humor with you somewhere far away from here,” Germany stated.  “You know where to find them,” he said, and without sparing his brother a second glance, he returned to his troops.

Prussia and his bird whistled as they made their way towards the fenced in area attached to the side of Germany’s house where Germany’s three beautiful dogs pawed anxiously at the ground.  Their tails wagged furiously at the sight of their master’s brother. Blackie, Aster and Berlitz loved Prussia as much as they loved Germany, if not more for the extra treats, and obeyed him just the same.  As soon as he opened the gate, they came barrelling out of it and planted themselves around Prussia’s feet as fast as they could. There they sat, perfectly trained to be perfectly obedient, although there was no denying the quivers of excitement that trembled down their muscular bodies.

Three pairs of anxious eyes peered endearingly up at Prussia, and he couldn’t help but make them wait for a moment longer before he crouched down and began petting the three dogs with vigor.  The dam of energy the dogs had been holding back burst forth in a rush of affection, and Prussia was soon awash with licks and nuzzles.

After everyone had received the appropriate amount of love, Prussia got to his feet and said in that voice he reserved particularly for dogs, “Come on, come on!  Let’s go for a walk! Yes, that’s right!” The dogs went bounding forward several meters only to circle back around, excited to see where Prussia would lead them and if it would be different from Germany’s usual trails.  Prussia focused his intent eastward, and a lush, wooded path shimmered into reality. His grin as sharp as a crescent moon, he broke into a run down the trail he had created. The four of them whooped and howled all the same through the trees as Prussia’s little bird beat its wings in thrilled pursuit.

Though the sprint was not long, Prussia was winded by the time he reached his home on the other side of the trees.  He threw himself to the ground with a graceless flop and began to cough as his lungs protested their lack of air. This drew the dogs’ attention.  Aster sniffed his face in concern while old Berlitz stood guard at his feet. Blackie circled him, panting, but still full of energy. 

For a long minute, Prussia felt as though there were razor blades racing up his throat, until finally it ended.  He laid there in the grass, watching the dogs, watching the sky, long after the coughing subsided. Clouds drifted overhead.  They threatened rain. He let his breath join the breeze and allowed himself to rest in the moment. The dogs had lost interest in him long ago and were playing in his garden nearby.  For the first time in a long time, he felt at peace.

A growl by his side sent Prussia leaping to his feet.  Berlitz snarled by his side, staring off into the treeline.  Prussia followed the dog’s gaze until he spotted a lone figure whose face was obscured by the shade.  The figure was leaning against a tree just a stone’s throw away. A second later, the other dogs added their growls to the feral chorus and were about to begin barking before Prussia commanded, “Heel!”  Obediently, the three dogs quieted and moved to stand by Prussia, though they still watched the stranger warily.

“How kind of you to call off the mutts,” crooned a voice that Prussia recognized at once.  It filled him with distaste. 

“You must be lost,” Prussia said as the stranger stepped out from the darkness.  “The tea party’s back the other way.”

England scoffed and put on a sour grin.  “You know, you used to be better at throwing insults, old friend.”

“And you used to be better at keeping kingdoms together, but here we are,” replied Prussia. 

England’s self-assured, composed front was quickly falling away, leaving anger in its wake.  “At least I still have a kingdom, unlike you,” he spat.

Prussia didn’t bat an eye.  “Oh ho ho, did I strike a nerve?” he asked, quite pleased with himself.

“Of course not,” said England, sparks in his eyes.  “I never take anything seriously if it’s coming from a nation that’s falling apart.”

Prussia’s smile never faltered, though something in him twisted painfully at England’s words.  “Why are you here?”

“Getting straight to business then? I was just starting to have fun,” said England, relishing the small victory.  “If you must know, I came to speak with Germany.”

“Are the Allies surrendering already? Awesome.  I'll go tell him myself.”

“No, you idiot,” said England with a scowl.  “Quite the contrary. In fact, I’m on my way back from a meeting right now during which we decided to give you all one last chance to surrender before we put away the toy guns and start setting you straight.”

The dogs waited, tense like coiled springs at Prussia’s feet, ready to attack given the command.  “What kind of man do you think I am that I would even bother to talk of surrender to him? The answer is no, so you can go right on home.” he said with an irritated wave of his hand.  “If you don’t hurry I might send these three with you to help you along,” he added. Aster barked once in approval.

“As long as we’re exchanging threats, I’ll have you know that I could shoot you right now,” said England, absently thumbing at the pistol at his waist.  “How long do you think it would take you to recover?” he mused. “A healthy nation, like me, might only take a day, but you?” His eyes flicked over Prussia, taking in the dark circles under his eyes and the cold pallor of his skin.  “I wonder if you’d even recover at all.”

Prussia felt his stomach drop, but still he fought to hold on to his dignity.  “You’re nothing but bark and we both know it,” he said. “I’ll be nobody’s messenger pigeon.”

“You want to bet?” said England, pulling out his gun and cocking it.  The dogs began growling viciously. “I bet I could put a bullet or two in you before these three got to me.  Nobody wants to get mauled to death, but it’s merely an inconvenience to someone like me. I would heal long before your wounds even shut.”

As tempting as it was for Prussia to say the word that would have Germany’s dogs at England’s throat, he couldn’t make himself do it.  In all his life, he had never feared the end of a gun. Now, ill as he was, he wasn't at all sure what even one bullet wound would cost him.  “Fine,” he snarled. “I’ll deliver your useless message. We both already know the answer.”

“I knew you’d see things my way,” said England, lowering the gun and stuffing it back in his coat.  The dogs relaxed, but imperceptibly so. “Now run along home,” he mocked. “Tell your brother to quit while he’s ahead.  Oh, and you’d better hurry,” he added, a cruel smile cracking his face. “You know, before you fall over and die. Everyone knows you’re on your last leg.”  Prussia couldn't reply past the numb rage, fear and shame that rushed through him. “I'll be expecting Germany’s answer before the month’s end. Don't make me ask twice.  I can't promise I'll be so kind.”

With that, England turned away and was gone the next instant.  

***

“Those cowards,” Germany grumbled, slamming his fist on the table.  Italy looked troubled; Japan, simply offended. Prussia wouldn’t meet anyone’s eyes and had hardly said a word since delivering England’s message.  All were somber. Night had taken the land, and training had long since ceased. “They want a response in a month? Hah!” Germany laughed, glowering at nothing.  “I shall give them a response by the morning, and I’ll tell them where to stick it, too.” He sighed, frustration nudging away his anger. “I need a beer,” he huffed, retrieving five bottles.  He placed two in front of his brother and distributed the remaining three among his allies and himself.

“Why’d you give me two?” Prussia asked, voice hoarse from a day of coughing.

“It’s for the road.  I owed you one, remember?” replied Germany, softening slightly.  “I always pay what I owe.”

Prussia laughed shortly.  “That you do, little brother.”

Japan took a sip of his beer.  He made a face at the strange taste, but made no comment other than, “Please allow me to sign the response when you have finished writing it.”  A small smile crept onto his face. “I believe I would like to give them further instruction, expanding on your guidance of where they might ‘stick it’.”

This drew a grin out of Italy, who had been quite glum up until now.  “Hey, I wanna sign it, too!” he said, cheerful. “I want to say hello to big brother France!”

Prussia snorted and shook his head.  “I guess I have a thing or two to say, too,” he added, having thought of some very good comebacks in the time since he had spoken to England.  His bird tweeted his accord with the statement, and so they set about penning a response.

The next few hours were spent composing a very long, very tactfully-worded letter of which they were quite proud.  It contained all the necessary sentiment and then some, and they were sure that England and all his friends were sure to understand exactly how they felt about being asked to surrender.  The night, as all nights do, grew old after a while, and Prussia said his goodbyes, extra bottle of beer in tow. He slept very well knowing that by the morning, their response would be on its merry way to the Allies.


	6. Brothers in Arms

Months had passed since the last time Canada had seen America. Canada had been spending ever-increasing amounts of time in Europe to help out with the war effort against Germany, and so the moment his Boss had dismissed him from his weary work, Canada had all but run to the peaceful meeting spot he and America had made for themselves in the North American wilderness.

Their meeting place was sacred--at least to them.  It rested in a quiet, shallow valley near the border of their lands where they would always have the privacy they needed to speak freely with one another, without fear of snooping politicians butting into their business.  On days when the clouds threatened rain or the winds drowned out their voices, they took shelter in a cabin they had built together many years ago. These days, it was the farthest away from the War either of them could get. 

The process of constructing their cabin had taken much longer than necessary.  Agreeing on a blueprint had taken them almost two years, not counting all the time poor Canada had spent trying to convince his brother that no, it would not be a good idea to go running out into the wilderness chopping down trees and laying down logs on a whim.  Picking a plot of land had taken them an age. When it had come time to actually build the cabin, the process had been delayed in spite of the fact that America could lift whole trees by himself. What had hindered all their progress was that neither brother could seem to agree on precisely which way any given task should be completed, or which type of wood looked best, or nearly anything at all, for that matter. 

The one thing on which they had agreed, the one portion of the cabin that had been constructed without a cavalcade of arguments, had been the porch that leaned--now weathered and worn--against the cabin’s front.  All the mornings and afternoons they had since spent together on that porch had made the cabin well-worth all the trouble.

Despite how often they bickered and quarrelled, Canada was more than a little relieved when America’s head finally popped up over the hill that overlooked their meeting place.  If America was there with him, that meant he wasn’t off picking fights, Canada told himself-- not that his presence had stopped America before, but it still gave him comfort. 

“Hey bro, long time no see!” America called out as soon as he came within earshot.

“You’re late,” Canada called back, crossing his arms.  “I’ve been waiting here for an hour.” Not that he minded the quiet.

“Only an hour?” said America, trotting to a halt in front of his brother with a teasing grin.  “You got here later than usual.” Canada rolled his eyes. “What kept you so long? It wasn’t Old Man Artie giving you extra work again, was it?” 

“Alfred, no,” Canada huffed.  “I know you hold a lot of things against England, but this grudge of yours is just stupid.”

“Oh, so he’s ‘England’ today, and I’m the one holding grudges?” America scoffed.  “You ever hear the one about the pot and the kettle?” A withering stare was his answer.  “Whatever. He’s just fun to poke fun at.” When Canada did not seem at all convinced, he added, “But if I were holding grudges--hypothetically speaking, of course--I would have some good reasons.”

“Oh, here we go,” Canada groaned.  “Go on, tell me what his sins are today.”

“That’s the spirit,” said America, already sauntering around his soap box.  “Let’s see… For one thing, he dragged you into the last world war just because you were still under his custody.”  America’s face turned sour. “Bet he just wanted an excuse to throw his weight around. What kind of lousy… Hey, wait--” America whirled to Canada, his brows scrunched accusingly.  “He didn't pressure you into war again this time, did he?”

“No way!” Canada defended himself with a wave of his hands.  “Didn't you notice that I waited a whole week to declare war on Germany after England did?”  Canada had pulled himself up proudly. “I would’ve done it sooner, but I wanted to wait so that England and Francis and everybody else would see that it was my own choice.” Canada beamed.  “I am an independent nation, after all!”

“Wow... a whole week,” America stated blandly, thinking that waiting one measly little week still demonstrated an awful lot of dependence on England.  Still, Canada was at least making some sort of attempt to stand up for himself. “You sure showed them,” America drawled, voice dripping in sarcasm.

This earned him a scowl and a light punch in the arm from Canada.  “First time I’ve seen you in forever and you’re already being mean…”

America let out a loud laugh in return and draped his arm across Canada’s shoulders.  “Aww, come on, Mattie! I was just messing with you.” He ruffled a hand through Canada’s hair.  “I’m actually kind of proud that you did that.”

In spite of how annoying Canada often found his brother, America did know how to get a smile out of him. “Hey now, don’t you go getting all sappy on me.”  Canada half-heartedly swatted at America’s hands before he tired of that endeavor. He stood there with his brother, taking in the green, hilly countryside.  Clouds blotted out the sun, leaving everything a moody grey, and a wistful sigh escaped him then. “Do you ever miss when we were kids and didn’t have to worry so much about… about everything else?”

“Now who’s getting sappy?  All that maple syrup must be going to your brain or something,” America teased.  “I do get what you mean, though.”

“Really?”  
“Yeah, of course.  When Arthur lived here with me, I didn’t have a care in the world.”  Canada listened silently to his brother’s rare seriousness as they strolled through the grassy valley.  “He built a house where we could live, made sure nobody picked on me, dealt with all the boring stuff, you know?  But then when he…” _Abandoned me_ , whispered a quiet, hurt voice in America’s head.  “When he got busy and left, I had to pick up all that stuff myself.  And then he tries to come back and tell me how to live--” For once, America stopped himself.  “You start to do things for yourself. Get a Boss. Make some rules.” He shrugged. “You know how it is.”

Canada nodded.  “It was all so simple when I still lived with Francis.  And then England showed up, and things…” Canada trailed off as he remembered watching France and England fighting heatedly over who had how much claim to him before they had finally, miraculously, reached a level of agreement.  Although England became Canada’s guardian, he didn’t have the heart to separate Canada from France completely, so both he and France had played a role in raising him. Of course, had it not been for England’s involvement in his upbringing, he might not have gotten to know America until much later in life, as was the case with the unfortunate Italy brothers.  A small smile of gratitude crossed Canada’s face for having had a different fate. “I guess things worked out, in the end.”

Peaceful silence nestled between them as they walked together, both enjoying the chance to be outdoors and away from the dusty paperwork and stuffy meetings that usually ate away at their time.  The cool, crisp air of the day refreshed their spirits. A flock of birds moved delicately across the sky, nothing more than a mess of shapes in the breeze.

A short distance away, Canada spotted what looked like a bush that had been withered by the December cold--or, no, that wasn’t quite right, because as they neared the plant, he noticed little blooms on the plant that he figured he must not have been able to see before.  A few steps closer, however, and the small blooms were suddenly a rainbow of full-flowered zinnias. Canada squinted and decided he might need new glasses soon. “Hey, Al,” said Canada, pointing suspiciously at the flowers. “Does this seem weird to you?” 

They both halted beside the plant.  America looked more concerned about his brother than the flowers that lay innocently at his feet.  “What are you talking about, dude? It’s just a bunch of flowers. You feeling okay?”

“I’m fine, I just thought I saw--”

That instant, America cried out in surprise and pain and fell to the ground, clutching at his leg.  Canada’s eyes widened as he rushed to America’s side. “Holy-- are you okay? Did you twist your ankle or something?”

 America clenched his jaw and squeezed his eyes shut, trying in vain to block out the pain.  His ankle was on fire, and the agony shot up his leg in waves. “No,” America gritted out. “This is different.”  He both hoped and expected that the pain would ebb away, but moment after tortuous moment, it persisted. America gasped as a lance of fear shot through him, bearing with it the terror and rage of his people.

_ What’s happening to me? _

Despite the cold, a bead of sweat appeared on America’s forehead.  He tried to keep his panic at bay for the sake of his brother, but Canada was already holding onto America’s arm just a little too tightly.  He fleetingly wondered if he could wait out the pain there by the wilting zinnias, but when he saw no end in sight to the burning and stinging that spiderwebbed through his whole body, he finally reached out to Canada with a shaking hand, saying  “Come on, help me up.”

“Can you walk?”

America ignored the question.  “I need to call my Boss. Something’s not right.”

Canada’s fretful hands heaved him up off the ground, and they began the slow hobble back to the cabin.  America grunted and winced all the way, and Canada plodded alongside him, muttering soft reassurances despite having no idea what could be hurting his brother.

As they neared the porch, the muffled ring of a telephone called to them from inside the cabin, urging them to hurry.  Without so much as a glance to each other, they both picked up the pace until they crashed through the front door. Squeaky floorboards and creaky door hinges protested loudly as the pair stumbled to get it, but just as America’s fingertips brushed the receiver, the ringing ceased.  America muttered a curse as he collapsed into a chair beside the phone.

“Do you think that was your Boss?” Canada panted out, breathing heavily from half carrying America to the cabin.  

“Probably.  I’ll call him back after I take a quick look...” said America, trailing off as he gingerly pulled up his trouser leg to inspect his wounded ankle.  The skin there was an irritated shade of red; America couldn’t determine whether it was a burn or a rash or some ailment peculiar to nations, only that it hurt more when he looked at it.  Canada found it painful to behold as well, and was glad when America shoved the leg of his trousers down again and dialed his Boss.

“Hey, Boss, it's me.  Sorry I missed your call, but I--Wait, you didn’t call? Then who…” America shook his head.  “It doesn’t matter. Listen, something happened, and my ankle--What do you mean I was bombed?”  Canada watched in shock and sympathy as America’s face cycled between confusion, anger, and something that looked like loss.  America listened to his Boss speak for a few long seconds before he hung up with a curt goodbye. He was pale.

Canada stared at his brother, who had this dazed, far-off look in his eyes, silent.  Finally, America muttered, “Japan.” 

Canada felt his heart break and sing with rage in the same moment, and he knew what had to be done.  Japan had to pay.

This meant war.

***

Russia had always been so cold, and lately, he had been hungry, too, so hungry it hurt.  And yet, he smiled on. He had even made new friends! Except, they weren’t truly his friends, were they?  But soon, Russia knew they would all live under his roof. Maybe one or two of them would even join with him.  The thought filled Russia with glee; just to think how many friends he would have! And he would be powerful. When you were powerful, you could do whatever you desired.

Nobody was bigger than Russia.  Consequently, nobody hurt like Russia.  But when the pain of his people was numbed by expansion--nobody knew how freeing it could truly be, either!  The bigger he made himself--the farther his reach went, Russia found, the smaller and duller the pain inside him felt, and he grew blissfully numb to it.  With every scrap of land his people occupied, there was oh so much pleasure to be gained, and the hurt that had long ago made its home in him drifted that much farther out of reach.

But the pain, the hunger, the cold--they weren’t quite gone yet.

No, he needed to grow even larger.

He had watched as Germany got a taste, and Russia knew that Germany would soon be addicted.  A shiver of pleasure ran through Russia as he remembered how good it had felt when he had worked with Germany just a few years ago to claim a little piece of Poland for himself.  As small as Germany was, surely the sweet balm of expansion would be like a drug to him, and he, too, would crave more. Soon, Germany and all his friends would be just like Russia.

Yes, they would all be great friends.

“Russia, dude, you still with us?”  America stared at him from across the conference table.  “We called your name, like, five times already.”

A cursory glance around the room revealed England and France watching him with unease, and Canada fidgeting nervously, trying not to look him in the eyes.  Russia’s smile widened at that.

“I’m sorry little America, what were you talking about?  I’m afraid I stopped listening,” Russia giggled.

England groaned and slumped back into his chair.  “He was explaining to us why exactly he wanted to be our ally, officially.  America, I suppose you’ll have to start from the beginning. Again.” At this, China rolled his eyes and slumped onto the table while France gave a bored little huff.

“Must we really go over this again?  You said yourself we needed all the help we could get,” France pointed out.  “Is there really a point in taking a vote?”

England flopped back into his seat and said, “If we are going to work as a cohesive unit, we must all agree on who gets to be part of our team.”  After this, he muttered, “I’m still not sure how you managed to get voted in, anyway.”

“What was that?”

China threw his hands up in the air.  “Will you both cut it out? I can’t believe I’m saying this, but let America speak.  I have better things to do than sit here and listen to you two argue all day!”

“Thank you, China.” America waited until France and England quit glaring at each other before he began again.  “As I was saying, when I was out walking with Canada a few days ago, our quality time was rudely interrupted when Japan went and bombed me.”

“Oh yes, I remember now!” interjected Russia.  He leaned forwards, then, and clasped his hands together on the table, smile broadening.  “Tell me, how did it feel to be bombed by your friend Japan, little America?”

Uncomfortable glances shot across the table at the boldness of the question.  America held Russia’s gaze, the only sign of his own discomfort a subtle twitch of his mouth.  Canada feared there might be a fight, but England spoke up first, feeling suddenly protective.

“What the bloody hell does that have to do with anything?”

“You don’t have to answer that, Al,” Canada murmured. England stared daggers into Russia, whose eyes betrayed everything his smile concealed.

“I believe you’ll find it is a perfectly relevant question.” Russia countered, earning him several skeptical glares.  “America and Japan were close comrades until only very recently, no? Maybe this bombing he talks of is a clever little story the two of them put together as an excuse to get America into the war, except as a double agent from the Axis.  How, then, can we be certain he is telling the truth?”

“Double--This is ridiculous,” America huffed.  “What the hell do I have to do to prove I’m on your side here?”

“Russia has a point,” said China.  “It doesn’t seem like Japan had a very good reason to bomb you.”

America put on a curdled smile and said, “I don’t know, China, did he have a good reason to stab you in the back when--”

“America,” Russia interrupted him, just as China went a shade redder.  “You have never been bombed before, isn’t that right?” 

“So what?”

“So,” Russia continued,  “Everyone else here has. If you can tell us what it really feels like to be bombed, we can know it really happened and that you’re not here telling tall tales.”

All eyes were suddenly on America, but before he could get a word out, Canada spoke up.  “That all makes sense, except--” said Canada, an angry wobble in his voice.

“Ah, I thought you might agree, friend Canada!”

Canada shook his head, trembling slightly.  “Except I was with America when it happened!  Is his word not enough for you? Is my word not good enough for you?  Because if it isn’t, I’ll tell you exactly where you can--”

“Stop.  It’s fine,” said America, voice confident as ever. “If they really want to know, I’ll tell them what it felt like.”  Every gaze had returned to him, including one with a victorious shine in it from Russia. “The pain felt like burning, like a bunch of wasps were stinging me over and over or something.  It started in my ankle but after a minute it spread through the rest of my body.” A few nations shifted uncomfortably, recalling their own recent wounds. “Right after, the skin there looked raw, but it went away after about a day.  Are you satisfied now?”

Russia frowned slightly.  “That’s not all you felt, was it, America?” he asked innocently, already knowing the answer.

America grimaced internally.  The last thing he wanted to talk about in front of all of them were his feelings.  Those were personal, damn it. Physical pain was one thing, but the relentless fear that had underlined the whole ordeal was something that he hadn’t wanted to even think about, let alone mention.  Now that Russia was prying for details, it appeared he had no choice but to answer. 

“My people were afraid, and I felt it too,” he answered quickly and quietly.  In truth, the fear still lingered, muddling in with the betrayal he felt that Japan had bombed him.  Honorable, sincere Japan, who hadn’t even called to apologize for what his country had done to him, or to check and see how he was recovering.

Some sad, lonely part of America told him that it had probably been Japan’s idea to bomb him, anyway.

“Ah yes, that sounds more like a bombing,”  said Russia, watching America with a satisfied glint in his eyes. “So you want revenge, yes?”

“Look, if Japan thinks he can walk all over me, then Germany certainly won’t have a problem with it either,” America replied bitterly.  “I know I’ve been sending you money,” he said, jabbing a finger at England, “but I didn’t really want to get more involved than that. Now though, well, I hardly have a choice, do I?”  

Despite everything--including having to hear England rant for weeks about a childish, insulting letter the Axis had written him after he had so politely asked them to surrender--America had been hesitant to go to war and had taken a few days of his brother’s convincing to finally take action.  America could feel how very angry and afraid his people were becoming in his heart and in his mind, and he was struggling to separate their emotions from his own. “My Boss has already decided that we’re joining the war whether or not you let me into your little club,” America declared irritably.  “Do you want my help or not?”

“It depends, are you going to be this crabby the whole war?” asked China, glowering.

“Give America a break.  He’s had a rough week. Isn’t that right, mon ami?” said France.  The strain of war had worn his capacity for empathy quite thin, but he was managing to keep it together.  Without waiting for America’s reply, he added, “I say he would make a fine addition to our team.”

“I agree with France,” said England, though it pained him.

“Me too,” added Canada.

China said simply, “I guess.”

“The more the merrier, isn’t that right, friends?”  Russia smiled brightly as though he hadn’t just been deliberately sowing the seeds of suspicion towards America in everybody else.  

“So is that it?” asked America.  “Am I in?”

England nodded solemnly and patted America on the shoulder.  “Congratulations, chap, you’re an Ally. Welcome to the War.”

America nodded, and then, the stars glittering to life in his eyes and a triumphant smile on his face, he slapped the table and stood up, forcing his chair back with a squeak.  “Alright, as your new leader, I say we get the real meeting started!”

After no less than fifteen minutes of violent squabbling, the six of them settled their differences and began to discuss the one thing they had in common: the Axis.

“As you can see by this map,” said England, pointing at the board towards a crude map of Europe that he had drawn there by hand, “Germany and his friends have deployed their forces here, here, here, and here”  England scratched his head and frowned. “I’ll be honest, fellows, it seems like Italy is doing some very complicated strategizing. I can’t figure out his movements at all. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say he was just attacking at random, but with Germany and Japan looking over his shoulders, that seems doubtful.”

Pointing to a different part of the map, England grew very serious.  “France, I hate to say it, but once again, you seem like Germany’s next logical target.”

“My people are strong, and I am more than capable of defending myself,” he said, examining his nails. After a beat he admitted, “Though I won’t say no to any assistance you might send my way.” He looked entirely unperturbed, although he would never say that Germany’s growing strength concerned him.  

“Just let me handle this,” America exclaimed, digging a confident thumb into his chest.  “I’ll have him out of your girly hair in no time.”

France snorted in amusement and said,  “I am sure you would, but did it not occur to you that your people are not ready to fight yet?  You just entered this war. Unless you plan to fight off all Germany’s armies by yourself--”

“I totally could.”

“We’re sure,” replied France, deadpan.  “Unless you plan on doing that and moving to England’s house for a while so that you’re actually within fighting range, I think it would be wiser if England, Canada and Russia helped divide Germany’s forces.”

“I don’t have a problem with that plan,” said England.  “Russia?”

Russia’s brows furrowed.  “I suppose I could do that, but my neighbor Japan has required much of my attention lately.  Wouldn’t you agree, friend China?”

China fought back a dull, bitter frown.  “Yes, he has been giving us no small amount of trouble.”  

America huffed out a vague noise of agreement. 

“Right then,” said England, eyes dancing carefully between America and China.  “I suppose that settles it then. America, when you’re ready, you can team up with China and Russia to tackle Japan.  France, Canada, and I will fend off Germany and handle Italy as he becomes an issue. Russia, we’ll call for you if we need backup.  Are there any questions?”

Canada felt like asking why England hadn’t asked his opinion on the matter, but when he considered that that would only extend the meeting, he kept quiet.

“I suppose that concludes today’s meeting, then.”

The nations exchanged weary niceties as they packed up to leave, exhausted from the tedium of coordinating their efforts and the restless war that had thrown them all together.  France, as usual, bid everyone a farewell with a wink and a kiss before beginning the short walk south towards his home. Canada relaxed considerably when Russia left with China for their long trek, and he marveled that his brother hadn't come to blows with Russia over the meeting.  America remained uncharacteristically quiet, however, and simply packed up his things. America and Canada had just stepped outside to leave when England stopped them, disheveled from his hurry to catch them. “Boys, wait just a moment please.”

America eyed him suspiciously while Canada braced himself for the confrontation he felt bubbling up.  America frowned and asked, “Is there something wrong? And we’re not kids anymore, you know.”

“You certainly act like a child half the time.”  England scowled back at him. “Besides, does something have to be wrong before I have an excuse to chat with you?”  The edge soon fell off his gaze, however, as he continued. “Look, I only wanted to say that I know you and Japan--”

“Oh don’t tell me you actually believed that crap Russia was pulling in there!”

England bit back the scathing words he wanted to unleash on America in that moment and instead pushed forward with what he had to say.  “Of course I don’t! Quit being so daft for half a second and just listen. I know you and Japan were close, and I’m sorry this is how things have turned out.  If you want to talk about it or anything, you know my number. That goes for you too,” he added, looking at Canada. “Alfred, Matthew, either of you can call me anytime, for any reason,” he said, for a moment as sincere as either of them had seen him in a long time.  As soon as the words were out, however, he snapped back to his usual stiffness. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have business to attend.” With that, England turned away and went home, sparing all of them any awkward emotional fallout of their exchange.

“Well that was… nice,” said Canada, puzzled, but glad.

America was silent for a long while before he suddenly focused his intent on his home, bringing up a long, stony path before them.  “Yeah, I guess it was,” he agreed, finally. Together they set off towards home and the setting sun. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Flowers are important! (These notes to be added to the end of future and previous chapters, maybe even with fun history tidbits.)  
> Mixed Zinnias-thinking of an absent friend.


	7. The Best Laid Plans

Egypt, Italy had discovered, had a very strong arm.  A welt and a bit of dried blood on Italy’s head were evidence enough of that.  Italy rubbed at the wound, wincing, as Germany tugged him along by a firm grip around his arm.  Germany’s temper was burning hotter than the Egyptian sun that baked the dusty sand as it stretched longingly along their path towards the ocean.

“I was in the middle of a battle.”

“Germany, I’m--”

“This is the third time, Italy!  You promised me you wouldn’t do this again!”

“I’m really sorry!”  Italy clutched at Germany’s sleeve.  “My Boss seemed to think I could handle this one, and I did too, so I didn’t want to bother you or Japan.”  The lie slipped out more easily than Italy had thought it might. He would have been impressed with himself if he weren’t so disgusted.  Deceit tasted foul on his tongue, especially directed at Germany, but Italy knew it was a necessary part of his plan. “You're both so busy all the time, you know?  And yesterday Japan just looked so tired…”

Germany groaned and released Italy’s arm in favor of rubbing at the headache digging its roots into his skull.  ”You’re supposed to… to ‘bother’ us with your war plans before you go and get yourself beaten to a bloody pulp! We swore we would be there when you needed us, and you swore the same thing to us.  Japan and I are your allies, Italy. Does that mean nothing to you?”

Italy remained silent, eyes downcast.

Germany scoffed and scrubbed irritably at the sweat threatening to fall into his darkened eyes.  “I don’t need to hear your excuses anyway.” The words escaped Germany’s lungs in a hot cloud of annoyance and ire that rapidly condensed into regret.

Italy said nothing to defend himself, though Germany’s words had cut him deeply.  If Germany had to be mad at him, it was fine by Italy. If all it took to keep Germany from meeting the same fate as his grandfather and Holy Rome was enduring his wrath for a little while, Italy would do it again and again.  He only wished his head would stop pounding.

There was no singing or arranging of flower crowns on this trip, as there had been from Greece.  Ten minutes went by in silence. Ten painful minutes turned into thirty. Every passing moment dragged Italy deeper and deeper into his doubts and insecurities so that by the time Germany spoke up, Italy had almost convinced himself that Germany hated him and that he would surely be kicked out of the Axis.

“Italy.”

Italy startled.  “Y-yes?”

“I know what must be done to prevent us from finding ourselves in this situation again,” Germany stated.

Italy’s heart sank, a million possibilities tearing through his thoughts.  “What do you mean, Germany?” he quavered.

Italy squeaked as Germany stopped in front of him, took him by the shoulders, looked him in the eyes and said,  “It has become quite clear to me that I have failed you as an ally.”

Italy blinked.  “Germany, don’t be silly--”

“No, listen to me.  I knew before that you were ill-prepared to invade any of our enemies by yourself, yet I elected to do nothing about it, and for that, I am sorry,” Germany said, his brows firmly creased.

Italy’s headache worsened.  “Now wait a minute, Germany!  Why are you apologizing to me?” He asked, shrugging out of Germany’s grasp.  “Shouldn’t I be the one apologizing for getting myself into all this trouble?”

“That’s entirely possible,” Germany dryly replied, “but that’s not my point.  No, Italy, as your ally, it is my job to keep you out of trouble. My efforts so far have been insufficient, so further action must be taken.”  Germany took a breath of determination and continued. “For this reason, you will accompany me on my next mission so that I may show you the proper way to conquer another’s land.”

Germany had expected Italy to be nervous about this decision, but Italy’s reaction was nothing short of panic.  Italy began to tremble and stuttered out, “Wait, what? Can’t you just tell me how to do that during training? Surely that would be more efficient, and you’re always telling me I should try to be more efficient, Germany!”  With an uncertain laugh, he added, “Why do I need to conquer anyone’s land, anyway?”

_ How hard did Egypt hit him? _ Germany wondered, incredulous.  “You’re at war, remember? What were you trying to do with Egypt if not take over his land?”

“I was, uh, I was just trying to distract him, is all!” Italy blurted.  “Maybe weaken him a bit,” he continued, sweating. “He can’t go fighting a war if he’s busy with me, right?”

“Neither can I,” muttered Germany, but the gloom passed as quickly as it had come.  “There’s no need to be so nervous. All you need is a little instruction. I’m sure that with my guidance, your true fighting potential will begin to show.”  After a beat, he gave Italy’s shoulder a squeeze and added, “You and I will become great empires someday, Italy.”

The color drained from Italy’s face at once.  

“Italy?” Germany tilted his head in concern.  “You don’t look so good.”

Italy flicked his eyes towards the ground, away from his fear that he might look at Germany and see someone else.  “My… my head hurts, is all.”

“I don’t doubt it,” replied Germany, frowning still.  The pair had come upon the sea now, and the water lapped lazily at the sides of the stony path that stretched between Italy and Egypt.  Germany could see Greece’s land not too far off and knew that it wouldn’t be long before they reached Italy’s home. This meant, consequently, that Germany could soon get back to work.  His Boss was going to have a fit if Germany turned in another late assignment, and Germany was loathe to disappoint him. 

Despite his hurry, Germany let his eyes roam over the sparkling waves, and as he did so, a hope welled up within him that when the war was over, he might come back through this land the slow way so that he could take in all the wondrous sights the world had to offer.  To capture the whole world within his mind’s eye--yes, that was quite a lovely aspiration, Germany thought, and he allowed himself a smile.

All the beauty of the world and the sea could do nothing whatsoever to help the astounding pain that had made its home behind Italy’s eyes, however.  Italy was sure it would go away soon--nations healed quickly, after all--but in the moment it was dreadful. All he had to do was focus on the road ahead and make it back to his house, which wasn’t too far now.  Yes, the road would lead him home, despite the fact that it had begun spinning--or was that just his vision? The thought had hardly completed a full circuit of his brain before Italy felt a steadying arm wrap around his middle.  He smiled weakly up at Germany, though he couldn’t remember when he’d gotten so close. “What’s the hug for, Germany?”

“You were about to stumble into the sea,” Germany informed him with a frown.  “Just hold on to me until we get you home, alright? It isn’t that far now. The last thing I need is for you to go drowning yourself.”

Italy complied, content to let himself be carried dizzily along as Germany rattled on about the importance of caring for head wounds and staying hydrated when attacking hot places.  Germany’s solid form at his side provided a refuge from the swimming in his head, and for that, Italy was grateful.

***

Failure had never been an easy thing for Japan to accept.  Even harder for him was to accept failure that hurt not only himself, but those who counted on him.  It was no easy thing, then, for Japan to stand at Germany’s doorstep for no other reason than to bring word of his own failure to his ally.  The bombing of America had gone off flawlessly, and yet it had been a total disaster. It had done no less than achieve the opposite of what Japan had set out to accomplish.  

America had declared war on him; that alone would have been tolerable, if still a shameful turn of events, had America not brought half the world with him into the war at the same time.  Japan knew that he and his allies were catastrophically outnumbered now, and the blame, he felt, rested on his shoulders alone. He wondered if his allies would abandon him to clean up the mess he had made by himself.  It would be a death sentence, undoubtedly, and yet one he felt he deserved. 

He wished America had picked up the phone.

Shame crashed through Japan like hot water as he thought of that one desperate call, made in secret on the day of the bombing.  Perhaps it was best that America hadn’t answered. It was treason, after all. An apology would be pointless.

Nobody had to know.

Japan shook himself and looked back up at Germany’s door.  He could hear Germany’s dogs barking from somewhere behind the house, which did nothing for his nerves.  Gathering his willpower, he knocked. He expected to hear footsteps, or maybe Germany shouting at Italy that he would get it, but only silence answered Japan at the door.  He knocked again, but still, there was nothing.

Perturbed, Japan thought through his options.  He briefly considered going next door to speak with Prussia, but he dismissed the thought.  As much as Japan enjoyed Prussia’s company, Prussia would almost certainly ask more questions than Japan had time to answer.  Besides, there was a good chance that Prussia didn’t even know where Germany was at the moment, anyway. Italy, on the other hand, was just a stone’s throw away.  The decision clear, Japan headed south, focusing his intent on Italy. 

After a pleasantly short walk over a hilly road, Japan arrived at Italy’s home heralded by vibrant plants and an air of spices.  It was almost enough to make Japan forget his troubles. He inhaled deeply and allowed himself to admire the scenery that accompanied his stroll up the cobbled walk to the front door.  Italy clearly put forth a large amount of effort into keeping his home beautiful. Statues in elegant poses surrounded by verdant plants and purple hyacinth made Italy’s home reminiscent of Greece’s.  Both were such beautiful places, Japan noted, and he would have to ask about some of the flowers Italy had chosen for his garden later.

Japan had been so lost in his admiration that Italy’s door took him quite by surprise when it abruptly put an end to his walk.  Japan wilted; the same dull feeling of dread he had felt earlier resurfaced fully when he recalled what he had come to say. Nevertheless, Japan had a duty.  He gathered his strength, swallowed his anxiety, and raised his fist to knock. When the door flew inward, then, to reveal a scowling, cursing Italian, Japan couldn’t suppress a choked exclamation of surprise. 

“O-oh, hello there, Mr. Romano,” said Japan as he hastily recovered himself from their near-collision.

“The hell?” Romano squinted at Japan, who saw bewilderment in his eyes and irritation on his lips.  “Oh, It’s you, Japan.” Romano’s scowl lessened somewhat. “What are you doing here?”

“I was hoping to find your brother, but it is pleasant to see you, as always,” Japan carefully answered.

The cloud that seemed to be hanging over Romano’s head only darkened.  “Boss sent him out to go pick a fight with Egypt. Told him to drag you or Germany along too--God knows he can’t fight Egypt on his own.  You’re obviously not with him so I guess he’s with that potato-eating bastard again today.” Romano ranted from where he leaned against the door frame.  “Don’t know why the Boss told him to go do that anyway. Sending Veneziano to conquer Egypt is about as good of an idea as tossing a kitten at a wolverine to scare it away.”

“Er, well, yes,” said Japan.  “It is true that Mr. Italy can be quite helpless, but as you said, he is not alone if he has Mr. Germany there to--”

“That rotten Germany is up to something, I just know it!”  Romano exclaimed. “I wish he would just leave my little brother alone, but no!  Instead he goes around acting all big and tough and bossing him around all day. Who made him the damned leader anyway?”

“I believe he did, and I am not about to volunteer to take up his position, either,” said Japan, smothering his own growing annoyance with tact.  “Leader or not, Mr. Germany is still our ally, Mr. Romano. He promised to protect you and your brother. Why do you distrust him so much?” Japan asked, eager to make peace within his allies.

Romano lowered his voice and glanced around.  “You saw what he did to Poland not too long ago, didn’t you?”  Japan nodded tightly and shifted on his feet, remembering the terrible whispers about Poland’s horrific injuries.  “He even worked with that creepy bastard Russia doing it,” Romano argued, crossing his arms as though he felt a chill.  “And you know he and his Boss won’t stop with just Poland. Guy like him starts hanging around with a guy like Veneziano...  Why do you trust him so much?”

The question surprised and unsettled Japan.  “Trust and devotion are key parts to any partnership,” replied Japan, skillfully avoiding his own reservations.  “Mr. Germany has shown nothing but the strongest devotion towards us, and it is our duty to extend to him some trust in return.”

“Whatever,” growled Romano.  “Duty or no duty, I’m still keeping my eye out for--hey! You bastard, what the hell happened to Veneziano!?” Romano shouted as he looked past Japan.  Turning, Japan caught sight of Germany and Italy trudging up to Italy’s house. Germany had an arm around Italy’s waist, and Italy was leaning heavily onto him, smiling despite the bruises purpling on his face and the welt that was peeking over the top of his head.  

“Look, Germany!  It’s Romano, and Japan, too!” Italy cooed, immune to the wrathful glare Romano was attempting to spear him and Germany with.  “What are you guys doing here?” 

“I’m your damned brother!  I’ll come over whenever I please!” Romano yelled, storming down the path to meet Italy and Germany there in the garden.  He jabbed an accusing finger at Germany’s chest. “And you! How dare you bring Veneziano home looking like he was put through a meat grinder while you don’t even have a scratch!”

Germany’s brows knitted in frustration.  “If it weren’t for me, he would be a lot worse off.  Believe me,” Germany replied curtly. “Some thanks would be nice.”

“Oh yeah, sure!  Thanks for nothing!” Romano spat before whirling to his brother.  “What were you thinking?” he demanded, and from there launched into a similar lecture to the one Germany had given Italy earlier, except that Romano was far less keen on watching his language. For several uncomfortable minutes, Germany kept Italy propped up so that the brothers could spout their emotions at each other.  He shot a few helpless glances at Japan, who, by the looks of it, would have preferred to be anywhere else at that particular moment.

Finally, Italy was able to placate Romano’s rage, if only for the time being.  Romano sighed. He was still upset, but the fight had gone out of him. “Just don’t go throwing yourself at Egypt or anyone like that anytime soon, Veneziano.  And you two!” he exclaimed, glaring between Japan and Germany with a righteous fury. “Do your damned jobs, will you? I don’t like to see him hurt.” At last, he started off towards his own house next door.  “I have stuff to do,” he said in lieu of a goodbye, and with that, he was gone.

Italy adjusted himself against Germany’s side and shouted a quick farewell in Romano’s direction.  He waved, smiled to himself, and then, he laughed. “Big brother is kind of a dick sometimes.” 

Germany snorted and shook his head, a smile playing at his lips, but it fell away when he looked again towards Japan, who was waiting for them at the door with his hands clasped solemnly in front of him.  “I don’t expect you came all this way for a social call,” said Germany, toting Italy steadily towards the door. “But before we discuss business, I need to get him inside.”

Japan nodded with renewed concern, stepping aside as Germany hauled Italy through the door.  “I assume the attack on Egypt did not go as well as planned,” Japan stated.

“That is an understatement,” Germany grumbled, lowering Italy into one of the many comfortable sofas that adorned Italy’s home.  “Wait,” he said, pausing. “You knew about it?”

“Mr. Romano told me about it when I came looking for you both,” Japan answered, looking between the two of them.  “Was I not supposed to know…?”

“Oh, you were,” Germany huffed, shooting Italy a venom-tipped glare.  

Italy laughed nervously while Germany scowled.  “I didn’t want to bother you with it!” he said. “Egypt did knock me around a bit, but then Germany rescued me and Egypt went home.”  Germany grunted and tipped Italy’s head forwards, inspecting the wounds on his head. There was some dried blood in his hair and a nasty bump, but an examination of Italy’s pupils told him that he probably wasn’t concussed, just exhausted.  Italy chattered on as Germany worked. “Everything turned out great! I bet he’ll think twice before attacking us. Right Japan?” 

Japan hummed in agreement.  “I think you are right about that, Mr. Italy,” he said, his eyes following Germany’s observations closely.  Something about the whole situation put Japan off, but he couldn’t quite place what exactly that something was.  “If you’ll excuse me, I will find you some water and a clean rag.” Italy indicated his approval, so Japan began the search for a kitchen or bathroom.  He returned shortly with a bowl of water, a rag, and a glass of water for Italy to drink. The couch dipped lightly as Japan settled himself by Italy’s side and began cleaning up his ally’s wounds.  Germany busied himself checking Italy for broken ribs and other injuries. The quiet sounds of water and wet cloth filled the otherwise silent room.

“Ah, thank you both,” Italy sighed, leaning weakly into the coolness of the rag.  “You guys really don’t have to do this, though,” he added, guilt for willfully endangering himself pulling at his conscience.  “I’m not hurt that badly.”

“That’s exactly the attitude that got you into this mess in the first place,” Germany retorted, seating himself in a nearby chair after his search for any serious injuries came up blessedly empty.  He relaxed just long enough to draw a breath and immediately went back to business. “Japan, was there something you needed to discuss?” 

Dread slithered all at once across Japan’s skin, and he cleared his throat before attempting to speak.  “That is correct,” he said, his ministrations faltering. He had never enjoyed being the bearer of bad news.  “I am afraid the bombing of America did not go according to plan.”

Italy and Germany frowned up at him.  “What do you mean?” Italy prompted when Japan remained silent for a few seconds too long.

Japan bit his lip, reasoning that it wouldn’t do to postpone the inevitable.  “Rather than deterring America from entering the war, as we had hoped the attack would,” Japan explained hesitantly, “Our plan… backfired, and instead provoked America into fighting against us.”  Japan avoided anyone’s eyes as he continued wiping the blood from Italy’s hair. 

“That is... most unfortunate,”Germany slowly replied.  “But we can certainly handle one more opponent.” Japan remained silent, however, and Germany grew more wary of his nervous behavior by the second.  “What is it that you aren’t telling us?”

The soft sound of the rag brushing gently across Italy’s hair ceased as Japan’s hands stilled.  “All of Mr. America’s allies have declared war against me as well.” Italy and Germany blinked, stunned.  “They are all bound to declare war on you both soon, as well, and I am afraid I could not challenge so many nations without your aid, regardless--I am deeply sorry for my failure and for the trouble I have brought upon us all.”  Japan turned his head, unable to even look at his allies for fear that he would see new enemies when next he looked into their eyes.

Nobody spoke for a long minute.  Germany and Italy were still processing the fact that they had acquired at least a dozen new opponents overnight, and Japan could not speak around the shame that had lodged itself as a lump in his throat.  There was no more blood to clean, so Japan left the soiled rag to soak in the bowl. He watched it sink down to the bottom noiselessly and wondered if the rag would stain. Even when the murky water stilled, Japan kept his gaze frozen to it, unable to look anywhere else.  He felt like a man on trial. 

Japan didn’t realize he was trembling until he felt Italy’s warm fingers wrap gently around his cold, wet hand.  Startled, Japan looked up and met Italy’s eyes. He found not the judgement or disappointment he had expected to see there, but something far more tender than Japan felt he deserved.  “You don’t have to be sorry,” Italy said, clasping Japan’s cold hand in his own. “It wasn’t your fault, Japan. You said it yourself: your Boss would have done it whether you agreed with him or not!  And even if it was your fault,” he continued, glancing at Germany before looking Japan in the eye once more. “You’re our friend.” Japan’s eyes widened. “We stick together no matter what. Right, Germany?”

A troubled air surrounded Germany, but his voice held nothing but firm resolve.  “Of course. We have an agreement, after all,” he responded. “Your enemies are our enemies, and we will fight them together.”

Quietly, Japan looked between Germany and Italy with a strange, conflicted emotion etched into his face.  Germany was sure he had never seen Japan quite this emotional before, but only Italy was close enough to see the way Japan's eyes went glassy.  Softly, Japan said, “You humble me with your kindness. I am sure I do not deserve it.” 

Italy gripped his hand tighter. “Don't say that,” he pleaded. “Look, why don't you stay and have lunch here with me and Germany so we can make a plan?” 

A sad, delicate smile tugged at Japan's lips.  “I would greatly enjoy that, but I fear I have already stayed for too long as it is.  All the declarations of war on my country have left me with many issues that need to be addressed, and my Boss will be expecting me back very soon.  I’m sure that you will soon have the same dilemma,” he added, rubbing his arm. “Sorry, again, for that,” he muttered.

“Oh,” replied Italy, failing to hide his disappointment. “You really do have to go, then?  I understand. By the way, thank you again for helping me get cleaned up. I really appreciate it,” said Italy sincerely, finally letting go of Japan's hand.

“You’re leaving, then?”  Germany stood to wish Japan a proper farewell.  “It's a shame that you must be going so soon. I'm not sure when we might see each other again.  Be sure to be wary when you travel,” he said. “The world has become more dangerous, it seems.”

“I assure you, I will take care not to find any more trouble,” Japan apologetically assured him, determined to make things right and earn the forgiveness he was sure he had not earned from his allies.  With a quick bow to the two of them, Japan wished them farewell and left, shutting the door behind him.

Germany and Italy  frowned at the door, unsettled.  “Do you think he’s okay?” Italy quietly asked.

Germany sighed, his shoulders slouching.  “He really screwed up, Italy. I’m having a hard time not blaming him, myself, so I doubt he’s okay with the way things have become, either.”  He shook his head and dismissed the topic with a wave of his hand. “I didn’t have much time to spare before, but now I really must hurry,” said Germany, already fretting over the amount of paperwork alone that would be produced by the situation with Japan.  

A dissatisfied hum left Italy, but he did not complain.  Instead he watched Germany pull a map from his coat pocket and spread it out over Italy’s coffee table.  “Like I said a while ago, you are coming with me on my next mission, the goal of which will be capturing this island,” Germany declared, jabbing a finger at a dot on the map.  Italy nodded, pensive. “We leave in the morning. I’ll be coming over to pick you up just after dawn, so be ready to leave when I get here.” At this, Germany folded up the map and stowed it away once more.  “I’m sure you have questions, but I really have to go, or my Boss will… he won’t be happy with me.”

“I have about a million questions,” Italy agreed.  “But, I’ll save them for tomorrow morning when I get to see you again.”  He forced his ever-growing concern for both of his allies down beneath a smile.  Standing, he threw his arms around Germany and placed a kiss on his cheek. Germany was almost able to suppress the pink that crept into his face;slowly but surely he was becoming accustomed to Italy’s displays of affection.  “Try not to work yourself to death, okay?” Italy murmured before letting go.

“I make no promises,” Germany replied lightly as he headed for the door, but he froze mid-stride.  A shiver ran down his spine, followed by those wonderful, pleasant tingles that signalled that his borders were expanding once more.  He made a small noise in the back of his throat and shuddered again, bracing himself against the wall as he waited for the sensation to pass.  Part of him hoped it never would. He felt a hand on his shoulder.

“Germany?”  Italy asked cautiously, fearing that something was wrong.  “Are you--oh.” Realization hit Italy hard when he recognized the symptoms.  He drew his hand away from Germany, eyes widening. He had felt the strange, addictive sensation that accompanied expansion before, but it had been centuries since he last observed it happening in another nation.  Every nation reacted in a different way, but there were almost always shivers, and then there was that blissful smile as the nation experienced not only pleasure, but also relief from whatever pains they felt. Famine, pestilence, plague--all of these were numbed by expansion.  However, the moment of bliss was only made possible at the expense of some other nation’s land or people. Italy knew that at that moment, some other nation was growing weak and ill, shivering for entirely different reasons.

The sight of it all disturbed him deeply.

In seconds, the feeling had subsided enough for Germany to compose himself.  The tingling sensation was still buzzing pleasantly under Germany’s skin, but in the back of his mind he knew he couldn’t linger in the moment for too long.  He had responsibilities. Germany took a deep breath and let his hand slide off the wall before he turned to look at Italy.

The hungry, glazed-over glint in Germany’s eyes frightened Italy more than anything, but he did his best not to let it show.  He smiled nervously at Germany in hopes that he wouldn’t see his fear, and asked, “Are you okay now, Germany?”

Germany smiled back at Italy, which would have comforted him if Germany’s eyes weren’t glowing with a terrible, vicious sheen.  “Better than ever,” Germany replied evenly. “We might win this war yet.” With that, he turned and left. 

Italy stood in the doorway and watched Germany go.  He stood there long after Germany had disappeared from view, and longer still after the thin smile Italy had fixed to his face disappeared from view as well.  Italy was alone in his house once more, feeling nothing but a headache and the weight of a thousand worries in his heart. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Purple hyacinth: a flower symbolizing regret, or the search for forgiveness.


	8. Preparations and Introductions

The high that Germany had experienced in Italy’s sitting room faded with each step he took towards his home until he was left feeling irritable and empty.  As unpleasant as the fallout of expansion usually was for him, he found that the rewards far outweighed the side-effects. Besides, he had the best interest of his people at heart whenever he pushed his boundaries, and if a few moments of bliss followed by a crash were what went along with that, well, who was Germany to resist it?  It wasn’t so bad that he craved more.

He took a few more steadying breaths to clear his head.  After all, he would need to be focused for the hours of toil that awaited him in his office.  Sure enough, by the time Germany cracked open his office door, a new mountain of documents for him to read and sign stared bleakly up at him, the result of Japan’s mistake.  Resigning himself to a very long day, Germany put on a pot of coffee and began to sift through his assignments. Normally he would have preferred to preserve his ever-dwindling supply of coffee, but today he felt he needed the simple pleasure.

A substantial portion of the stack was composed of diplomatic updates, which Germany placed aside for later reading.  Buried under that he found several financial spreadsheets and a few matters that would require Germany to make rather unpleasant phone calls.  His first priority, however, was to handle anything that came directly from his Boss so that he wouldn’t have to keep him waiting or risk having his volatile temper turned against him.

That Germany was at times afraid of his Boss was something that he wouldn’t even admit to himself.

Part of Germany wanted to resent Japan for bringing this avalanche of work upon him, but he couldn’t blame Japan for what had happened, at least not entirely.  Italy had said earlier that they were all friends now, so they had to stick together, but Germany had his doubts. He wondered if he and Japan would ever truly be friends instead of just allies, and then he wondered if he wanted that.  Even having just Italy as a friend had done something terrible to Germany: it made him worry. He tried to decide if he would be brought to worry if Japan were in danger--if he would willingly go rescue him time and again as he did for Italy.  Brief consideration brought him to the conclusion that he probably would.

Germany filed away another sheet and pulled out the next, wondering if this meant that he and Japan really were friends, or if it was just the ties of alliance that he felt.  If so, what did that say about his relationship with Italy? He had never been good with friendship to begin with, and the fact that he was tired and distracted made him ill-equipped indeed to puzzle through what exactly Japan or Italy meant to him, so he took another sip of coffee and tried to focus harder on the task at hand.

The lonely work dragged on for endless hours until the night crept upon Germany, who failed to notice that the sun had gone down until he realized that he could no longer read his papers for how dim the room had become.  Germany turned on a lamp and found with great disappointment that he wasn’t even halfway through the stack. Clearly the situation called for a second pot of coffee. He would need it if he were going to stay awake through the night, as it had become apparent he must in order to get everything accomplished before he left on his mission tomorrow.  Yes, tonight was certainly a night that Germany needed to forego sleep. The work was more important than the weariness in his bones, anyway.

Germany wiped a smudge from his reading glasses and set back to work.  Papers were filed and signed and sorted steadily until late into the night, when the only sounds Germany could hear were crickets chirping outside his window, a clock ticking on the wall of his office, and footsteps.  Germany nearly jumped out of his skin when he realized that he was hearing footsteps in his house at nearly two in the morning. Reflexively, Germany reached for his gun.

He listened, holding his breath.  The footsteps gradually grew louder as they creaked and thumped their way through the house to his location.  They stopped sporadically only to continue onwards moments later, as if their owner were searching the house for something.  Perhaps it was a thief, or even a spy that had come into his house. Whoever it was, Germany would stop them before they could do any damage.  

Silent as a shadow, Germany rose and padded noiselessly across the floor to press his back against the wall beside his office door.  He could hear the footsteps approaching now, thick boots thundering against the wooden floors in the quiet of the house, matching the thundering in Germany’s ears as his heart pounded.  He set his jaw and double-checked that his gun was loaded. Although he wanted to avoid bloodshed if possible, especially in his clean house, he was ready to kill should the need arise. It certainly wouldn’t be his first time doing so.  

The intruder made their way down the hall, audibly pausing at every doorway.  Germany counted down, listening. Two more doors between himself and the intruder.  Footsteps. One more door. Germany had to remind himself to breathe. Footsteps.

In one swift motion, Germany whirled around the door frame and leveled his gun at the intruder, a shadowed form in the dark hallway.  “Don’t move!” he barked, keeping a fair amount of distance between them. “Who are you and what are you doing in my house?”

“Woah there, West, I didn’t think it had been that long since the last time I saw you.”

All the tension that had built up in Germany’s body vanished in a single moment, leaving him feeling slightly weak in the knees.  He lowered his gun and groaned. His heart was still hammering from the adrenaline. “For God’s sake, Gil…” Germany stepped towards a lamp and turned it on, successfully illuminating Prussia, who was looking at him with a level of amusement Germany found especially irritating on someone who had just been at the wrong end of his gun.

“You should see your face right now,”  Prussia chuckled before closing the space between himself and Germany to wrap him in a crushing hug.

Germany wriggled around but was unable to escape.  “What the hell are you doing in my house?” he grunted as the air was squeezed out of his lungs.  “Do you have any idea what time it is?”

Prussia released him, but kept a hand clapped to Germany’s shoulder.  “Of course I know what time it is. That’s why I’m here, dumbass.” Germany scowled and holstered his gun.  “I knew it was some ungodly hour in the morning just the same as I knew I would find you still awake and working through all those war declarations.  You didn’t even plan on sleeping tonight, did you?” Prussia’s eyes were filled with a kind of care that was reserved only for family. Germany knew it well, and he hated when it was turned on him.  It made him feel like a child again.

Germany crossed his arms defensively.  “I could have shot you.”

“But you didn’t,” Prussia replied, raising his eyebrows.  “And you didn’t deny anything either, which means I’m right again.” he chided, earning him a pained groan.

“Please just tell me what you want so I can get back to work.  I should be done in a few more hours if I hurry.”

Prussia frowned at him.  “Geez, this war has made you even more of a hardass than usual,”  he teased. 

“Takes one to know one,” Germany muttered.

“Whatever,” said Prussia.  “If you must know, I heard you were leaving on a mission in the morning, and about what happened with Japan.  I wanted to see you before you left, and I knew that you’d be up wearing yourself out behind a stack of paperwork, anyway, so I stopped by.”  Prussia then looked away sadly, putting on a dramatic pout. “But if you really want me gone that badly…” Prussia turned away and pretended to leave, keeping one eye on his brother.

“Wait,” huffed Germany, resigned.  “You’re already here. We might as well talk.”

Instantly, a smile returned to Prussia’s face.  “That’s more like it!” he said cheerfully, walking with Germany towards the kitchen.  A series of coughs struck him then, and when the fit subsided, Prussia produced a small parcel wrapped in paper from the depths of his jacket.  “Here,” he said, handing it to Germany. “I brought you a sandwich.”

Germany squinted and took the parcel.  “Why did you bring me a sandwich in the middle of the night?”  Just then, he felt the emptiness in his stomach tighten, reminding him that he hadn’t eaten since breakfast.

“Because on nights like this,” Prussia said, turning on the kitchen light and pulling out a chair.  “You forget to feed yourself. I know this from experience. Now sit down and eat.” When Germany made no move to sit, he added.  “It’s your favorite kind. Don’t make me force-feed it to you.”

Germany had experienced Prussia’s rather unusual brand of care enough to know that he was serious, so he complied.  He sat and unwrapped the sandwich at the table carefully in order to avoid spilling any crumbs. The sandwich looked especially beautiful given how hungry Germany was.  “ _ Danke _ ,” he muttered before he bit hungrily into the bread and meat, relishing the flavor.  Absently he made a mental note to stop letting people come to his house to feed him. 

Prussia leaned back in his chair, knowing that Germany wouldn’t be much for conversation until he had finished eating.  He never did like talking with his mouth full. Prussia was content to wait patiently for Germany to wolf down the last bite before he finally spoke.  “Your Boss wants me to cover for you while you’re gone,” he said, drawing a deep frown from Germany.

“Aren’t you going to be too busy with your own affairs to have time for mine?”  Germany asked, entirely unwilling to push his responsibilities onto his brother.

Prussia smiled sadly and shook his head.  “I’m getting old, West. You’re responsible for most of my business as it is, so I don’t have nearly as much to take care of as you do.”  With a bitter, huffed laugh, he added, “Hell, I’m practically your territory at this point.”

Germany made a disgusted face.  “Don’t say it like that. It’s weird.”  They were silent for a while. It was true that Prussia had once been powerful and independent, but ever since the last war, he had grown weaker with each passing day.  Over time, the responsibility of keeping Prussia’s head above the water had fallen more and more on Germany. As things were, both of them doubted that Prussia would ever be independent again unless they were able to crush the Allies entirely in this war.  Prussia’s decline scared them both to think about. Only dying nations shrank. “You’re not my territory or anything else, so stop acting like you’re so old that you’re about to fall apart. You don’t act your age anyway.”

Prussia snorted.  “Shut up, you know you’d hate it if I did.”

Germany laughed, and a playful twinkle glimmered in his eyes.  “Let’s see, if you acted your age, you might actually come visit at a decent hour, or maybe even quit making faces while I’m trying to speak at world meetings,”  Germany teased while Prussia grinned from ear to ear. “Oh! You might even stop prank calling Austria telling him that you’ve unearthed one of Beethoven’s lost masterpieces.   _ Mein gott _ , the horror!  You’re right, I take it all back.”

The two collapsed into warm, full laughter, relaxing for the first time in a very long while.  Prussia wiped a tear from the corner of his eye, still smiling widely. “No, no, maybe you’re right after all,” Prussia admitted in mock remorse.  “I’ll act my age. In fact, I’ll change my ways starting today! Bring me my dentures! Get off my lawn!” Prussia shouted, raising a finger in the air.  Once more, both of them were overcome with a fit of laughter, Prussia’s cackling mixing strangely with Germany’s high-pitched giggles until Prussia’s laughter was cut short by a series of coughs.  Germany’s laughter faded away shortly thereafter, though he tried not to let his concern show.

Despite his hacking, Prussia still held onto his smile, and he sighed happily once the fit was through.  “Oh, West. Now I really know you’re tired. You only laugh like that when you’re half-delirious from sleep-deprivation.”

Germany rested his head in his hand and exhaled deeply.  “Well I can’t exactly go to sleep until my work is done, now can I?” he retorted tiredly, trying in vain not to let the weariness he felt show in his voice.

“Go to bed, little brother.  I’ll finish whatever you have left.”

Germany blinked a few times.  “What? No. I can’t let you do that.”

“Why not?” countered Prussia.  “I’ll be filling in for you starting tomorrow--no, wait, tomorrow started two hours ago, so it’s my turn anyway.  Now go to bed,” he repeated sternly, standing up to shoo Germany towards his bedroom. Germany took a few hesitant steps towards the stairs, but stopped short.

“You’re sure?” he asked, suddenly overcome with the absurd notion that somehow he was taking advantage of his brother by accepting the offer.

“Yes, I’m sure,” Prussia said, rolling his eyes.  “For the last time, go to bed. I’ll wake you up in a couple of hours so you won’t be late.”

Both his tiredness and his brother’s prodding were urging him towards his bed, but still he remained at the foot of the stairs, one hand on the railing.  “What about you?” he asked, almost childlike in his concern. “You’re sick, and you’re just as tired as I am.”

“Don’t make me carry you, Ludwig,” Prussia warned, and finally Germany’s will gave out.  He surrendered and began to make his way upstairs.

“Thank you, brother,” said Germany quietly as he padded slowly up the stairs.

“You owe me a beer,” replied Prussia, already headed towards the office.   “Goodnight, West.”

“Goodnight, Gil.”

***

Morning came far sooner than Germany had hoped or expected it would, and with it came Prussia yanking the blankets off of Germany’s body.  Germany awoke with a confused and startled jolt, searching around wildly until his eyes fixed themselves on his brother. 

“Good morning, sunshine!”  Prussia crowed. Germany groaned and slid a hand down his face, deciding that Prussia was far too loud far too early in the morning.   “Wakey wakey, rise and shine! Time to get up, little brother!” 

A glance at the window told Germany that even the sun was still asleep.  “I’m up, I’m up,” he mumbled tiredly. Having too little sleep felt almost as bad as having no sleep at all.  He swung his legs off the bed and stood, stretching.

Prussia stood back and yawned.  “Well, you’re up now. My job here is done,” he declared before he fell directly into Germany’s bed and pulled the sheets up over his shoulders.

“You’re welcome to sleep there, but I must inform you that I have guest beds,” said Germany flatly, wondering what it was about his bed in particular that all of his guests seemed to find so appealing.

“Nah, ‘m good here,” Prussia replied blearily.  Seconds later, he was snoring. Germany sighed and let him be.  Whatever the case, Prussia deserved a nap after all that he had done for Germany the night before.

In no more than an hour, Germany was headed out the door with a bag slung across his back.  The sun was finally awake and busy painting the sky in hues of deep violet and pink. The cold morning air served well to push the last bit of sleepiness out of Germany, and he began the short march south towards Italy’s home.

Dawn suited Italy’s land well.  The golden rays of morning splashed beautifully over the pale winter grass, and wispy clouds overhead gave everything a dreamlike quality.  After only a few minutes of walking, the pungent smell of Italy’s garden--evergreen, no matter the season-- guided Germany gently to his destination and left him at Italy’s doorstep.

Germany was reluctant to break the peaceful silence of the morning, but knocked hard on the door anyway.  A family of birds fled from a nearby tree at the clamor, but from within the house came no response. Frustrated, Germany knocked again only once before he tried the door knob.  He wasn’t sure whether to be grateful or concerned to find it unlocked. He let himself in. 

“Italy?” he called as his eyes swept over the sleepy, chilly house.  He hadn’t given the interior of Italy’s home much attention before, but upon closer inspection Germany found it to be a comforting, soft sort of place.  It was a much more luxurious house than he would have preferred, with its plush furniture and breezy windows, but it charmed him nonetheless.

A brief search revealed to Germany that Italy was fast asleep, snoring happily in a bed that was much too big for him.  Germany might have found it cute if he weren’t so irritated by the fact that Italy was still asleep despite his explicit instruction that he be ready when he got there.  “Italy,” Germany barked as he approached the bed, whose inhabitant did not stir an inch at the noise. “Hey, Italy! Wake up.” The mattress creaked as Italy rolled over and continued snoring.  Germany huffed in irritation.

Remembering how his brother had given him a rude awakening earlier, Germany considered indulging in some vicarious revenge by grabbing hold of Italy’s blankets and yanking them away with all his might.  As tempting as the idea was, he decided against it when he remembered that Italy prefered to sleep naked. Although Germany knew that Italy had no dignity, shame, or modesty whatsoever concerning nudity, it would not reflect well on Germany to be known as a nation who would walk into someone’s house while they slept only to expose them.  

He wasn’t France.

Changing tactics, he reached out and shook Italy by the shoulder.  All that accomplished was that Italy mumbled something about his grandfather and tried to bury his face in his pillow.   Germany thought for a minute, refusing to be defeated. Finally, he cleared his throat and said, “I know twelve ways to kill a man using only a pillow.”  

Success.  Italy sat upright and exclaimed, “I’m awake! I’m awake!”

“Finally,” Germany muttered.  “Hurry up, we’re going to be late.”

“Right, right,” Italy answered, jumping out of bed.  As Germany had predicted, Italy was completely naked--not that Germany was looking.

Germany coughed, facing the door.  “Don’t forget your pants this time,” he reminded Italy before he hurried away to give Italy privacy.  

“I won’t!”  Italy called, dashing to the shower.  He hadn’t meant to oversleep. Rather, he had had such a difficult time falling asleep the night before that he’d spent much of the night cleaning his house and drawing in his sketchbook in an effort to keep his mind off his troubles.  When those tasks lost their appeal as distractions, he had even called Japan to ask if he had made it home safely. Japan was very busy, of course, but did tell Italy that he appreciated the call before he hung up. 

No matter how he had tried to keep his mind otherwise occupied, Italy couldn’t stop thinking of the map full of red pins in Germany’s office, or that terrible, glazed-over look that Germany had had in his eyes after his borders expanded.  Despite how exhausted he had been after fighting with Egypt, his mind couldn’t have been racing any faster. It wasn’t until very late at night that he had finally succumbed to sleep.

As he was toweling off, Italy realized that of all the many things he had done the previous night to keep his mind busy, he had forgotten to pack a bag for the mission on which he was about to embark.  As soon as he was dressed, Italy went crashing through his house with wet hair and an open bag, haphazardly stuffing every necessity he laid his eyes on into it.

Germany, exasperated, watched Italy zoom about the house.   _ This mission hasn’t even started and it’s already going terribly _ , he lamented to himself.  He was beginning to doubt whether having Italy join him had been the correct decision after all.   _ No, he needs to learn _ , he reasoned.   _ Otherwise he’ll just keep getting hurt. _  It was a small reassurance, but it was all Germany had to keep himself sane.

“I’m almost ready, Germany!” Italy shouted from a back room, struggling to wrestle his belongings into submission so that he could force his bag shut.  With a final grunt and a shove, everything was packed away. Satisfied, Italy rushed to meet Germany in the sitting room. “Sorry to keep you waiting!” he panted, standing before Germany expectantly.

Germany gave Italy a quick inspection, finding that Italy’s uniform was mostly intact, although one of his boots was untied and his buttons were done up incorrectly.  “Fix your buttons and tie your boots right, and then we’ll leave,” Germany instructed as he checked his watch. It told him that he was running late. Germany glowered at it, but it appeared that the timepiece could not be frightened into changing the hour, so he gave up.  Although tardiness annoyed him to no end, there was a silver lining to the situation. “We’re probably not going to make it there in time, but I doubt the boat will leave without us, given that we’re the only passengers.”

“Wait, we’re taking a boat?” asked Italy from where he knelt, tying his boots.

“Oh, I suppose I didn’t mention that part,” said Germany, watching as Italy finished fixing up his uniform.  “It’s a submarine, actually. My Boss arranged one to be available for this mission so we could travel to the island in stealth,” said Germany, ushering Italy out the door as soon as the last button was in place.  

Italy frowned as Germany pushed him into the bright, chilly morning air.  The sunlight did nothing to resolve Italy’s confusion, however. “Why are we taking a submarine to the island when we could just go the quick way?” Italy wondered aloud.

“You haven’t been to unclaimed territory before, so it makes sense that you wouldn’t know,” replied Germany, scratching the back of his head as he made them a road to the port.   “Traveling ‘the quick way,’ as you put it, requires two things,” Germany explained, holding up his fingers. “A start point and a target. Without those two things, a road cannot be formed.”  Italy nodded in understanding, and Germany took that as a cue to continue. He walked briskly forward, and Italy trotted along beside him. “Finding a target is the easy part. Most of the time, we target a nation’s land because it’s large and easy to find when you focus.  However, it is also possible to focus on a country’s representative--someone of our kind--and use them as a target instead.”

Italy’s eyes widened in amazement.  “Woah, I didn’t know that! So you mean I could just focus really hard on you or Romano or Japan or anyone else, and I could make a road that would lead right to them?”

“In theory, yes, but it requires a great deal of skill, concentration, and energy, and usually by the time you reach the end of the road, your target has moved,”  Germany answered. “Most of the time it’s more trouble than it’s worth.”

Italy was thoughtful for a moment.  “That’s pretty cool, but you never said why we couldn’t just use the island as a target.”

“I was getting to that,” Germany hushed him.  “This island we’re going to capture is unclaimed, unpopulated land,” Germany explained.  “It’s nothing more than dirt. Because a nation’s power is tied directly to their land and people, unclaimed territory can neither be used as a start point nor a target because there is no nation attached to it to give it its power.   Go ahead, try to feel the pull of the island.”

Italy closed his eyes and--he didn’t know what to search for.  He could feel no pull, no roads, nothing whatsoever from the land.  It was as though it didn’t even exist. “There’s nothing,” he pouted after struggling for a few moments.

Germany nodded solemnly.  “That’s correct. The island cannot be used as a target, and there are no nations there that we could use as a target, either.  All of that means that we would be very hard pressed to get to the island by traveling in the way nations do. Well, at least until we capture it.  Then it will be German land,” Germany added, grinning, but the smile quickly slid off his face. “Though, if we fail to capture the island, we’ll have to leave by boat, too”

The idea that Germany might fail to conquer anything, let alone one little island, hadn’t occurred to Italy.  “You don’t think we’ll fail, do you?”

“It is highly doubtful.  As far as I know, nobody has their sights set on that land except my Boss.  He wants to put up a naval base there. That’s what will make it such good practice for you,”  Germany replied, visibly reassured by his own reasoning.

The two conversed until soon they arrived at the docks.  It was a noisy, bustling place full of shouting, laughing sailors and seagulls who did much the same.  The pier was mostly populated by German vessels, although a few Italian crafts and even a lonely Japanese ship could be spotted along the docks.  Italy strained to see over people’s heads as Germany led him through the crowd. With an effort, they managed to push through the throng to an isolated deck where a German soldier waited for them beside a half-submerged submarine.  The soldier saluted as Italy and Germany approached. Germany returned the gesture and ordered the man to be at ease.

“Captain Beilschmidt, the crew of the _Kapuzinerkresse_ is assembled and available.   The craft is ready to depart at your command,” said the soldier, who could not have been older than twenty-five.  He had a sturdy, dependable air about him, but he also possessed a kind of youthful naivety that was often absent from soldiers.  

Seeing this, Italy smiled brightly at him, and said, “That’s a funny name for a submarine.  What’s it mean?”

The soldier answered with speed and pride.  “In English, they would call this vessel the Nasturtium.  It’s a flower that symbolizes victory and conquest.” His smile turned sheepish as he admitted, “Although, this vessel hasn’t secured a victory yet. She’s had to have more than a few repairs, you see.” 

Italy only laughed and said, “Maybe you should change the name until then, huh?”

The comment drew a dry laugh from the soldier, who decided it was time to proceed with business.  Turning his attention back to Germany, he asked, “Are you ready to board, Captain?”

“Yes, I believe we are ready.”

” _ We _ , Sir?”  The soldier brushed his incredulous eyes over Italy before looking to his Captain.

“Yes,  _ we _ ,” Germany stated.  “Is there a problem, soldier?”

The man gulped.  “No sir, it’s just--” his eyes flicked once more at Italy, who was still standing there with a vacant grin on his face, and then back at the towering, intimidating form of Captain Beilschmidt.  “I was not informed of any additional passengers.”

Germany frowned, and the poor soldier all but cowered away.  “Then let me inform you,” he said plainly. “This is my trainee, Private Vargas, from the Italian army.  He will, most definitely,” the soldier shrank away, “be accompanying us. Now unless there are any more questions, I would like to leave as soon as possible.” 

“Y-yes, sir!” yelped the uneasy soldier, who immediately turned and yelled for his small crew to prepare for departure.  Germany scratched his chin and wondered what had made the lad so skittish, but Italy had taken no notice of the soldier’s plight.  The name by which Germany had called him had captured his full attention.

While the crew was scurrying about, Italy leaned over to Germany and whispered, “Hey, when did you learn my name?”

Germany tried to remember where he had heard Italy’s personal name before, but the circumstance escaped him.  He replied with a puzzled “I don’t know.”

“That’s weird,” said Italy, folding his arms.  “I don’t remember ever telling it to you, and you never gave me yours.”  The cries of seagulls and the crashing of waves filled the air between them as Italy and Germany pondered the mystery.  “Hey,” said Italy, bright with the spark of an idea. “Why don’t we introduce ourselves right now?” His smile sparkled like the sun on the sea.

An awkward flush overtook Germany.  With the exception of Prussia, nobody used his name except for business purposes, but Italy was looking at him so expectantly that he stuck out his hand anyway.  “Ludwig Beilschmidt,” he said, and Italy took his hand in both of his.

“I like that!” Italy chirped.  “It suits you.” Germany blushed all the more.  “I’m Feliciano Vargas. Pleased to meet you, Ludwig!”  Italy laughed, shaking Germany’s hand. Even though it felt silly, Germany couldn’t help but smile.  

Shortly thereafter, Germany and Italy were escorted into the depths of the submarine, and in no time at all, the little vessel was surrounded by a vast, glittering sea.  The sun watched over them carefully as they sped away towards lands unknown. 


	9. The Unclaimed Island

After about the third cramped, sweaty hour of their journey, Italy decided that the inside of a submarine was possibly his least favorite place to be.  From the belly of the metal beast it was impossible to tell what time of day it was, where they were, or how fast they were going. On top of that, raging motion sickness had bullied Italy into a tight, miserable ball as he attempted to defend himself from the nausea that assaulted his gut.  A concerned sailor had given him a bucket, and while he didn’t find it to be of any help whatsoever, he thought the gesture was sweet.

Squished between Italy and a shelving unit sat Germany, who was doing his best to keep out of the crew’s way.  He, too, was green around the gills, but Italy looked downright pitiful in comparison. The interior of the vessel already reeked of sweat and body odor, and Germany shuddered to think what ungodly scent would result if vomit were added to the mix.  Thinking about it only made him feel sicker.

“Ungh, Germany, how far away is this island, anyway?  We’ve been down here forever,” Italy groaned.

“You won’t like the answer.”

“Oh don’t say that,” Italy whined, hugging his knees tighter.  “Just tell me so I can at least watch the clock as I die.”

Germany smiled in amusement.  “You’re not dying, you idiot. Keep it together for, let’s see...” Germany checked his watch.  “Another twelve hours or so and you’re in the clear.”

“Twelve more hours?  This really is the end, then,” wailed Italy in despair.  “Tell  _ fratello _ that when I’m dead he can have my furniture.  Except that one chair in my sitting room, actually.  I think Japan kind of liked that one, so he can have it instead.”

A short huff of laughter left Germany.  “What, Japan gets something and I don’t?”

Italy put on a subtle, sly smile.  “Well, I was going to leave you my books and bookshelves, but since you dragged me out here to die on a smelly German submarine, I changed my mind about that.”

“Pity, I needed new bookshelves.”

Italy shook with a laugh that quickly dissolved into another pained groan when his stomach lurched.  “Ugh, It’s so hot in here,” he complained, tugging his uniform jacket off. In the cramped space, it was inevitable that Germany get elbowed once or twice during the process.  Italy sighed happily when the offending article of clothing was finally removed and shoved unceremoniously into his bag. Germany considered chastising him for not folding it first before stowing it away, but he decided to spare Italy the lecture--just this once--because he was unwell, and also because he was sure that if Italy attempted to fold the jacket, Germany would end up being whacked a few more times by Italy’s stray limbs.

Where he sat on the floor, Germany felt much more akin to luggage than to a captain.  Soldiers passed him and Italy by without so much as a glance as they hurried through the narrow passageway from one end of the vessel to the other.  The creaking of the submarine’s sides accompanied the pleasant chatter of the soldiers, and in time, Italy was lulled to sleep by the noise. It was a blessed reprieve from his sickness.  Germany only wished he could nap as easily as Italy could, but the only way that sleep would take him in his current position would be through heavy sedatives or a heavier blow to the back of his head.  Neither of those options were befitting of a captain--certainly not one whose dignity was very much in question--so he declined to ask for either of them from the soldiers as they passed.

Admittedly bored, Germany pulled his mission briefing from his bag and looked it over for the umpteenth time  His Boss had given him specific instruction to take the island and return to Germany as quickly as possible. He imagined that the whole affair would take no more than three days, depending on how long it took him to make a connection with the land so that he could truly claim it as his own.  

There was also the issue of training Italy to be better able to conquer land.  It wasn’t as though Italy were inept; he had taken and lost land just like every other nation.  He simply lacked technique. Germany knew that Italy was more of a hands-on learner than anything else, so he decided that he would let Italy have a turn at conquering the little island before he took it for himself.

A tremor of anticipation stuttered unbidden through Germany’s bones at the thought of taking the island.  He tried to stifle it by reminding himself that the process wouldn’t be pleasant for Italy, as he would inevitably suffer the loss of the land that Germany needed to claim for his Boss.  Still, his heart raced with the promise of expansion.

Germany frowned.  His excitement conflicted with the reality that he was looking forward to a situation that would ultimately cause his best friend great discomfort.  In order to quell his guilt, Germany resolved to take back the land from Italy as painlessly as he could. Perhaps he would do it during the night so that Italy could sleep through the worst of it.

Germany shook his thoughts away and took a deep breath.  They were still at least ten hours away from the island, and he was already fretting over the details.  As much as he hated to go without a plan etched out in stone, it was impossible to hammer out every detail when unclaimed land was part of the equation.  This was a relatively simple mission, after all. All he needed to do was survey the island, coach Italy on how to personally conquer the land, and take it for himself the next night.  Once he secured the island for himself, it would officially become German land, and he could make a road back home from it. There was no need to worry.

A pleased sigh from Italy’s direction caused Germany to look over at his companion, who was currently slumped against his shoulder, snoring.  Despite his sea sickness, Italy slept peacefully, smiling, even in his dreams. It was no wonder they called him Feliciano--happy, joyous, cheerful Feliciano.  Germany was content to sit that way for several minutes, until he caught himself staring, at which point he discovered that his limbs had become cramped, anyway.  

He desperately needed to stretch out.  There was so little space that Germany eventually came to the conclusion that unless he wanted to spend the next several hours in discomfort, he and Italy would need to get cozier still.  With a series of short, awkward movements, Germany twisted and arranged himself until he formed a sort of chair against which Italy could sleep, and by doing so found a position in which he could finally stretch his legs.  He preferred to focus on the fact that he had renewed circulation in his legs, rather than the intimate nature of the arrangement. It was at least somewhat comfortable, Germany decided, even if he wasn’t quite sure what to do with his hands anymore.

Before too long, Germany’s eyes drooped shut, and his overworked body was rocked to sleep by the motion of the submarine and Italy’s rhythmic breathing against his chest. 

***

“Excuse me, Captain Beilschmidt?”

Germany blinked groggily awake.  The soldier that had met him and Italy at the docks fidgeted above them.  Germany wondered why the man was so uncomfortable until he realized a moment later that Italy was still fast asleep in his arms.  His cheeks went red as he answered, “Yes? What is it?”

“I’m sorry to… to interrupt,” said the soldier, clearing his throat, “but we will be arriving at your destination shortly.”

“I see.  Thank you.  Is that all?”

“Not quite, sir.”  The soldier shifted, and an air of unease pressed away the simple discomfort, darkening the soldier’s face.  “It doesn’t make much sense, but I was ordered by the Fuhrer himself to leave you on the island and get this vessel back to Germany as soon as possible, even though there won’t be another German vessel in this area to pick you up again for at least two months.”

Germany’s brows furrowed.  The news was both unexpected and troubling, but it was nothing that would jeopardize his mission.  Although it would have been nice to have the safety net of a way back home in case he somehow failed to capture the island--and consequently remained unable to travel home in the way nations do--he understood the need to have every craft available for the war.  He also understood the poor soldier’s confusion. From his point of view, it would seem as though he were deserting two soldiers on a deserted island with only a few days rations between them. “If the order came from the Boss himself, you had best heed it,” replied Germany.

The soldier still looked quite distressed.  “Sir, I--”

Germany cut him off.  “Enough of that. If everything goes to plan, we will have other means of transportation.  You can rest assured knowing that you aren’t stranding us by obeying your orders.”

The relief on the soldier’s face was evident.  “Very good, sir. We will be breaching the water’s surface in just a few minutes, and your raft will be ready soon after that.”

“Thank you.  If that is all, you are dismissed.”

The soldier nodded and left, his message delivered.  Germany looked down to find that Italy was still very much unconscious.  He patted his arms a few times. “Italy, get up. It’s time to go.”

Italy sniffed loudly and yawned. “Wha--? Are we there already?”

“Yes, now get up. My leg is asleep.”

With much stirring and shuffling and grunting, the two gathered their things.  After the long journey, they were more than ready to exit the vessel, and in no time at all, they were climbing up the ladder and out the hatch onto the small deck of the submarine.  Italy climbed up first. He poked his head out of the submarine and into the sunshine like a flower in spring, grinning from ear to ear as he inhaled deeply and tasted the fresh ocean air.  The ocean waved hello all around them, and a short distance away, the tufted greenery of the island did likewise in the breeze. Italy couldn’t help but stop and take it all in.

“Hurry up,” Germany grunted impatiently from below.

“Sorry, Captain!” said Italy, finally clearing the way.  “It’s just so good to have some fresh air.”

Germany crested the ladder behind him and relished the feeling of stretching out his stiff limbs.  Dry land was calling out to him just a stone’s throw away. “It truly is,” he agreed, allowing himself a smile.

The same soldier that had given Italy his bucket waited with a small inflatable raft that bobbed cheerfully in the water.  “I see you're looking better, Private Vargas,” greeted the soldier. 

“Nothing a little sunlight and fresh air can't fix,” Italy laughed.  “Just like a plant.”

“Sounds like it.”  The soldier gave them a pleasant nod and said, “Good luck to you Captain Beilschmidt, Private Vargas.”  All the while, he held the little raft still so that Italy and Germany could board it with ease.

“The same to you and your crew,” replied Germany as he hurried to help Italy onto the raft.  Delicately, he settled himself down onto the wobbling raft as well, positioning their bags in the center.  A pair of oars were fastened to the raft, which he took dutifully in hand. With a shove, they were off, paddling towards the land they hoped to claim.

“Thanks for the ride, mister!” Italy called back, waving to the soldier.  “Sorry you have to go back into that smelly submarine!”

Germany rolled his eyes and kept rowing.

The island was truly beautiful.  White sand glistened around the edge of it like a string of pearls, and beyond that, vibrant, untamed trees reached high towards the crystalline heavens above.  As soon as they were close enough, Italy jumped ship and ran splashing towards the beach, leaving the raft to Germany. Germany took the time to remove his boots and roll up his pants before he stepped cautiously into the water, unlike Italy, who had elected to remove his clothes after reaching land.  As he tugged the raft in the water behind him, Germany watched with dismay as Italy frolicked, pantless, on the beach, and wondered--not for the first or last time--if perhaps bringing Italy along hadn’t been one of his best ideas.

The sand was warm and welcoming under Italy’s feet, and oh, the glorious sun!  It shone like a beacon above the island and caressed Italy’s stiff and sore body in its beams.  Italy hated being away from the sun for too long, as he had in the submarine. It reminded him too much of cheerless hours spent in dungeons.  He found, too, that it made him depressed and irritable, like his brother, so he made a point of soaking it in whenever he could.

Germany, although he truly did appreciate the sun, had always felt a certain connection to water.  Even now as it sloshed cool and soothing against his legs, he couldn’t help but admire the calming tug of the tide and the enchanting way the water reflected sparkling fragments of light out into the world.  Indeed, the sun and the water, they beautified each other in a way that was unparalleled by any other pair of elements, Germany thought.

Germany called out to Italy, who was sprawled out by the water’s edge, looking to the sky.  “Don’t forget we’re here to train, damn it! This isn’t a vacation.”

“But Germany,” Italy cried, “The beach is so much fun!”

There was a part of Germany that wanted nothing more than to forget his worries there in the sand--that much he couldn’t deny--but he remained resolute.  “First things first, we need to survey as much of the land as we can before dark, so put your clothes back on. It’s dangerous to walk through the woods half-naked.”  When Italy made no move, he added, “There’s no time for dilly dallying. We’re running out of daylight.”

“Oh, right,” replied Italy glumly as he remembered their mission to conquer the island.  With an effort, he pulled on his soaked pants and boots and rejoined Germany by the raft, which now rested outside the tide’s reach.

Germany thrust Italy’s pack at him and shouldered his own.  He then fished a compass out of his pocket and glanced at it before stowing it away again.  “This appears to be the eastern shore,” he informed Italy, who nodded. “We should be able to reach the western side of the island by dusk if we cut through the center.  Let’s go,” he commanded in a voice that told Italy that he would have to try particularly hard to get Germany to have any fun while they were here.

As they trudged along through the brush, Germany invented a dozen hypothetical situations by which the nonexistent denizens of the island might choose to resist the invaders, and he quizzed Italy relentlessly on what could be done if they were attacked from behind, or above, or ambushed from all sides in a clearing.  By the time they reached the other side of the island, Italy was exhausted and more than a little frightened of every shadow and strange noise he heard, fearing that an attack would happen at any moment despite knowing that the island was completely deserted. The sun hung low over the western shore, although by Germany’s estimations, there were still a few hours left until nightfall.

“What now?” asked Italy, glancing around the empty beach.  “Hey, I know! We should set up camp out here by the water,” he suggested, brightening at the prospect of camping out under the stars.

Germany was thoughtful for a minute.  “That’s not a bad idea,” he conceded. “There isn’t much time left to explore any more of this island before dark, anyway.”

When they had reached a suitable spot to camp, Italy shrugged his bag off his arms and let it fall to the sand with a dull thud.  “Hey, I’m starving,” he said, stretching out his weary limbs. “Aren’t you?” Germany wore the expression of a man who had just remembered that his body had needs.  “I saw some fruit hanging on the trees back there. It looked tasty,” Italy sang, blinking up at Germany endearingly. 

“Alright,” replied Germany, shrugging off his bag beside Italy.  “Why don’t you go gather some? Oh, and bring back some firewood while you’re at it,” he added.

“Sure thing, Captain!” answered Italy lightly before he skipped back to the treeline in search of fruit.

Germany set to work laying out their bedrolls.  When he accomplished that task, he arranged a few rocks in a circle for a makeshift fire pit, and by the time he had completed it, Italy had returned with sticks in his hands, fruit in his arms, and a red begonia in his hair.  “Look at all this fruit, Germany!” he exclaimed, dropping the twigs into the fire pit and his armful of fruits not far beside it. “Even though we have to eat those crummy rations for a day or two, at least we can look forward to dessert.”

A hum of agreement was all that Germany managed for a reply, so caught up was he in his attempt to start a fire.  While Germany was distracted, Italy seized his chance to slip away to the water’s edge once again. With one last glance over his shoulder to make sure Germany wasn’t about to reprimand him, he sighed contentedly and plopped down onto his belly at the place where the sea met the shore.  The sun was just beginning to turn the sky orange in a way that reminded him of home.

Just to see if he could, Italy focused on his land and tried to make a road.  He smiled at the familiar tug of his home, but when he tried to grab hold of it, it slipped away.   It was as though his land were just a hair’s breadth out of his reach. It was endlessly frustrating and at the same time one of the oddest sensations Italy had ever felt.  Italy imagined that it was similar to what a bird felt when separated from its flock, like a single musician playing for a vast, empty theater, or a kite by a gale torn away from its string, tumbling through the skies far above the earth.

“Hey, Italy, get over here before your dinner gets cold.”

Italy snapped back to reality and pushed himself to his feet.  A lively fire crackled under Germany’s care, and Italy took the meal that had been prepared for him gratefully.  As they ate, Italy told Germany about his fruitless attempt at making a road.

“It is a strange feeling, isn’t it?” Germany wondered aloud.  “I tried it myself back on the submarine.”

Italy was thoughtful for a moment.  “Why don’t you claim the island now so we aren’t so disconnected anymore?” he asked, digging his fingertips into the sand.

“I was going to wait until tomorrow so we could see more of the land before trying to claim it,” admitted Germany, eyebrows knitted together.  “We might not know the land well enough to do it yet. Usually our armies would be the ones to do that for us, you see, but since we’re the first ones to see this land…” He shrugged.  “I don’t see any harm in at least trying to claim it tonight.”

“Well what are you waiting for then?” asked Italy, perplexed.

“The whole reason for you being here is so that you can practice conquering land, so I want you to claim it first,” Germany explained.  “Consider it a continuation of our training in the woods.”

Italy frowned.  “This is supposed to be German territory though.”

“You can give it back to me when we’re done training,” Germany countered, ignoring the quiet voice hissing in his ear that he shouldn’t let go of the land in the first place, not even for a moment, that he would take it back by force if he had to.  “Go on, Italy, claim the land,” he prodded in spite of himself. When Italy looked like he was about to protest, Germany added, “I insist. You have my permission.”

“If you say so,” Italy sighed.  “I’ll give it a shot.” He closed his eyes and laid back, trying to get a feel for the land all around him.  He willed it to be more than just dirt, to become part of a nation, to be his. He thought up his memories of the beautiful beach and the gorgeous plants, the delicious fruit and the breathtaking sunset that reminded him so much of home, conjuring up every bit of his love and connectedness to the land, but no matter how he tried, it seemed there was always something blocking him from taking the island for himself.

Finally he sat up, frustrated.  “I don’t know what’s wrong, Germany.  I just can’t claim it.”

Germany hummed in disapproval.  “It’s probably something to do with your technique,” he suggested.  Italy pouted. “What were you thinking of when you tried to claim the island just now?”

“Well,” Italy began, “It was the same type of stuff I usually think about when I’m trying to claim territory.  I thought about how much I like this island and how much I want it to be mine. The sunset here is pretty nice, and I saw some cute little begonias back there, and the sand feels great on my feet,” said Italy with a smile.

“No wonder you couldn’t claim the island,” huffed Germany, incredulous.  “I’m amazed you’ve ever claimed anything with that line of thinking. No, try this instead,” he instructed, looking past Italy to the darkening sky with a strange gleam in his eyes.  “It works for me every time. Now, imagine this with me, Italy: the blood of your defeated enemies as it soaks through the earth of this land, bought through victory in the heat of battle, earned by their screams shattering the air around you as you--Italy, is something wrong?”

“Uh, no, I just..” responded Italy, unable to contort his face into any expression other than horror mixed with distress.  “Isn’t that a little bit... much?”

Germany was beginning to think he may have said something wrong, but he wasn’t sure what.  After all, he was only repeating the advice Hungary and Prussia had given him when he was a child, but Italy’s expression made him wonder if perhaps his upbringing had been more unusual than he had previously thought.  “Well your way wasn’t working,” he retorted, crossing his arms.

“Why don’t you claim it then, if your way works so well?” Italy challenged.

“Fine,” Germany huffed.  “Watch closely.” Italy did indeed watch as Germany closed his eyes and concentrated.  Very soon, his teeth were grit, his fists were clenched, and his face began to redden. Germany’s rage was building moment after moment.  Italy jumped with fright when Germany let out a roar and his eyes snapped open. He was panting.

“Did you do it?” Italy asked cautiously.

Very suddenly the rage slipped off of Germany’s face and revealed the rather dejected look of a kicked puppy.  “I couldn’t claim it either. There was some kind of resistance,” he admitted “I wonder… Maybe we really do need to get to know the island better before we claim it.  We’ll try again in the morning after we’ve explored more,” he declared, and soon they were asleep by the fire.

The sun dawned on Germany and Italy wandering along the beach, soaking in every detail, both eager to prove that their way of claiming land was useful and valid.  When they had gone a long way off from their campsite, Germany suggested they spar so that he could fuel the fires of battle within them, hoping that would be the push one of them needed to claim the land.  When that approach failed, Italy suggested something different.

“Let’s bury each other in the sand, Germany!  Maybe we have to try to be one with the land before we can claim it, you know?”

While it wasn’t the dumbest thing Germany had ever heard, it certainly made the top ten list, and he told Italy as much.  Naturally, Germany found himself under a lump of sand within the hour, attempting to claim the land as Italy watched with amusement.  “You look kind of like a crab with your face that red,” Italy remarked, etching designs in the sand pile with his fingernail.

“You try to conquer it like this, then!” Germany huffed indignantly.  By the time Germany had dug himself out of the sand and buried Italy under it, Italy was on the verge of napping.  “No sleeping on the job,” Germany complained, giving Italy a light thump on the head. Italy pouted at him, but seeing as he was awake, Germany felt no regret.  

Germany watched intently as Italy concentrated, wondering if maybe this attempt would be the one to work.  After a long, suspenseful minute, Italy finally cried out, “I did it!”

“What, really?” replied Germany, shocked that Italy’s idea had actually worked for once.

“No, I just wanted to see your face,” said Italy, holding back giggles.  “I wish I had a camera. Anyway, I can’t conquer this land at all.”

Germany groaned, entirely frustrated.  “I should leave you buried here.”

He did not, and by the time the sun was announcing midday, the two were kicking their way across the beach once more, completely stymied.  While Italy did truly love being on the island, he was beginning to worry that if they couldn’t claim the island soon, they would be stranded there, unable to form a road back to Europe.

Suddenly Germany stopped in his tracks.  “ _ Scheisse _ ,” he muttered under his breath.  Italy followed Germany’s line of sight to see the charred remains of a campfire that they hadn’t built.  Germany stared for a long moment before he spoke again with a tired sigh. “Well, that explains why we couldn’t claim the island,”  he said heavily, nudging the burnt sticks with his foot. “Evidently there’s competition. This isn’t unclaimed land anymore, Italy.  It’s contested territory.”

Italy felt sick to his stomach.  “So we’re stuck here, huh? With.. whoever’s out there?”

Germany nodded solemnly, pushing down his own rising fear with determination.  “Let’s get back to camp.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Flower symbolism: Red begonias may warn of a dangerous situation.


	10. The Contested Territory

The Allies stood gaping up at the intricate gate that marked the entrance of one of China’s cozy settlements, which was nestled among tall island trees and wild underbrush.  “How the hell did you build one here so fast?” America incredulously huffed. 

England crossed his arms and paced a few steps, gazing at the new structures with disbelief and irritation in equal measure.  “I just want to know why you didn’t tell us about this last night before we went and slept on the sand,” he said. This statement was accompanied by a chorus of frustrated agreement from the rest of the Allies, who still ached from the discomfort of sleeping on the hard ground.  Poor Canada still had sand in his shoes. 

China, however, would not humor their complaints.  “It wasn’t ready then,” he said, dismissing all of them with a wave.  “Now, we can eat here or you all can keep whining. Your choice,” he stated, confident that the grumbling in their stomachs would be enough to shut them up as long as their next meal was on the line.  Another wave of grumbling ensued, but, as China knew they would, they followed him through the gates and into one of the few buildings in the little settlement, blessedly quiet.

The six of them shuffled into the building’s only room, which was dominated by a large wooden table.  The walls were lined with cooking implements and a few crates of food, one of which threatened to bust under the weight of a bulky military radio.  Everyone thought the cramped room was a sad excuse for a mess hall, but they settled themselves around the table nonetheless, keeping their complaints to themselves.  Nobody wanted to risk China making good on his threat to withhold lunch. They settled themselves quietly and watched China flick on the radio before he began throwing ingredients into a pot.

England was the first who dared speak up past the low, unintelligible static of the radio.  “Don’t think for a moment that you can claim this island for yourself just because you have a few shacks here,” he said.  China didn’t even bother to dignify him with a glare, but he continued nevertheless. “It was my navy who sailed past this island first, after all.”

France glared daggers across the table at England.  “You only sent out your boats to investigate because my air force spotted this land before your people ever did, so clearly it’s mine.”

Now both China and England were readying their retorts, but America cut them off.  “You’re all being dumb. I need this island more than any of you!” he complained. “You know, so I can at least have a base somewhere that isn’t on the other side of the planet from all the action.”

“By that logic, I have as much right to it as you do,” came Canada’s quiet interjection.

“I like that you say logic, friend Canada,” said Russia.  He scooted forward in his seat, beaming with excitement. “You see, my logic tells me that in order to end all this petty arguing, I should be the owner of this island.  There will be no more arguing about who owns what when it belongs to me,” Russia said with an air of finality.

Nobody agreed with this, and so an enormous clamor resulted there in the kitchen.  More than once were various nations threatened with China’s wok, America’s fist, or Russia’s smile, but no blood was shed.  China would not have allowed the stains on his new furniture, anyway. The Allies, however, had long since mastered the art of living their lives amidst chaos.  Lunch managed to be served there within all the commotion, and the arguing fell to a more reasonable pitch shortly thereafter.

When they finally came to an agreement, it was both a shock and a relief that they had made a decision within hours rather than days.  Canada suspected that there was some sort of miracle at work, but it was more likely that the amount of bribing and prodding and whining on America’s part had had a hand on the Allies’ agreement that America should have the island.  Nobody was happy with this outcome except America, who immediately pounced on the opportunity to claim the land then and there.

“Alright, let's do this!” America exclaimed.  The table creaked in agony when he banged his fists down on it, and his chair did likewise when he knocked it over leaping to his feet.  China tutted at his zeal, but rather than admonish him, he went about cleaning and turned the volume of his military radio up a notch. The others, rather, watched with faces that ran the gamut of emotion: England scowled in his bitterness that the island hadn’t gone to him, France sat with his head propped up in his hand, Canada watched with wide-eyed interest, and Russia, as always, smiled. 

Fully aware of his audience, America squeezed his eyes shut and let his focus spill into the land beneath his feet.  He imagined scooping the whole island up into the palm of his hand, and the thought made him grin. From across the ocean, he could feel his home calling out to him, and he willed the wet pile of sand in his fingers to join with it.  His people would be ecstatic, he was sure! The thrill of conquering the island bubbled in his toes, so close was he to making the island his own, and yet--

He couldn’t do it.

It was as though every time he tried to make the island his own, it slipped through his fingers and back into the ocean no matter how desperately he tried to keep his hold on it.  The others watched America with growing amusement when he growled in frustration and held the edge of the table in a white-knuckled grip. France was about to make a comment about constipation when America blurted out, “Okay, knock it off, you guys, this isn’t funny.  Which one of you suckers already took this island?” he demanded. 

“What are you talking about?” England huffed, face contorted in incredulous amusement.

“I can't claim this land, so that means one of you sneaky bastards took it while we were arguing,” said America, shooting an irritated, accusing glare around the room.  

China did not at all appreciate his attitude.  “You petulant child,” he spat. “Don't you know how this works?”  America looked like he might implode.

“China's right. You clearly don't understand how any of this works,” France sighed. “None of us could have taken it, America. If more than one nation is present on the land that has the intent to claim it, it becomes a contested territory that no one can claim until either every other contestant is either defeated in battle or concedes to let one country take it.”

England nodded in agreement.  “We all were contesting it earlier, so it would have been impossible to take it stealthily, but now we’ve all conceded to let you have it. There shouldn't be a problem.”

“Well, concede harder,” America growled, aiming a pointed glance at Russia.  The other nations followed his stare and wondered if not everyone had conceded after all.

“Is this task too hard for you, little America?” Russia asked with a condescending smile. “Maybe you should just let me take it, since you clearly don't know what you are doing.”

“Russia, concede already,” China admonished him. He leaned on the crates next to his radio, wringing a rag in his hands.  “You’re wasting everyone’s time, and I’ll have you know that my time is particularly expensive.”

“But I already have,” Russia insisted, the picture of innocence. “It is not my fault that America is incapable of such a simple task.”

“Incapable?!” America bellowed, all but lunging across the table.  “I ought to--”

“America, please calm down,” Canada pleaded.

“Yes America, please, calm down,” Russia cooed.  France and England backed away from the table for good measure.

Just when it looked like Russia and America were about to come to blows, China exclaimed, “Sit down and shut up!  I found the problem.” At that, everyone turned to look at China, who was turning up the radio volume as loud as it would go.  “Listen,” he hissed. An abrasive wave of static filled the room, but from within the whistling and popping could be heard a faint transmission.

“ _....mes..ge to Japan, it… mergency-- _ ”

“Hey, isn’t that Germany?” America asked, but he was immediately shushed by his allies, who were all intently listening to the broadcast.

“ _ \--claimed island, so don… if you have t... et here quickly.  We aren’t alo-- _ ” With an abrupt pop, the line went silent save for the concerned chattering of Japanese sailors asking after the voice.  The Allies were stunned, silent.

“I guess that explains why America couldn’t capture the land, eh?” said Canada, finally loosening his grasp on America’s jacket.

“Well, fellows, it sounds to me like we have company,” England agreed.  A wicked grin slithered its way onto his face. “If Germany’s here, I say we give him a warm welcome.”

***

Japan’s hand was cramped.  His eyes were sore, and his back ached from sitting at his desk for so long.  Overall, it had been a miserable day, and just when he had begun to think it might be over soon, he received this.  He stared at the paper, perplexed. He had been informed upon receiving the message that a German man had rather vaguely begged for help from the entire nation of Japan.  They had no idea where this mysterious German man was or if he was even still alive, but a high-ranking officer had insisted that a copy of the transmission be delivered to Lieutenant Honda Kiku anyway.  They could only guess that the desperate German soldier was stranded on some island.

On the slip of paper in his hand was a transcript of the only intelligible portions of the garbled transmission, which read: “To anyone who… hear me, get…message to Japan.  It…emergency… If you… hear me, Japan… on… claimed island, so don’t… if you have to… get here quickly. We aren’t alone [end transmission].” Japan leaned back in his chair and sighed, thinking it a miracle that Germany had been able to get this message to him at all.  The message would have been ignored completely and lost to the wind had it not so happened that one of Japan’s old friends--a grizzled sailor who knew what Japan was and owed him his life--had been listening in at the right moment.

It was ridiculous, Japan thought, almost impossible.  He stood and began preparing a bag to go rescue his impossible, ridiculous allies.  A day’s worth of provisions, at least, and then a compass, in case he lost his bearings--

Japan frowned into his sack as he pressed his old compass into it.  He felt his paperwork glaring daggers into his back, and he wondered if his Boss would mind if he turned it in a day or two late.  Surely, rescuing their allies from starving on an abandoned island was a valid excuse.

But, there was always the possibility that his Boss wouldn’t think so.  How long would it take to make an appointment with his Boss to discuss the matter, let alone convince him to give him time to go to the aid of his allies?  It wouldn’t be the first time Japan’s allies had needed assistance, not in this war or any other. Without fail, his Boss would tell him to let them handle it on their own, that if his allies weren’t capable of defending themselves, they weren’t worth keeping around.  Normally, Japan was content to follow orders.

He didn’t know what made Germany and Italy different than those that had come before them.  They had been polite, just as any ally would be; kind, even. They were respectable, and helpful, and friendly--

Japan shook his head.  He couldn’t have friends during a time of war.  He could have allies, but not friends. Never friends, even if Italy had called him a friend before.  Friends became weaknesses, and stood in the way of logical strategy and the performance of his duties.

Just as they were doing now.

Germany needed his help, and Japan intended to give it, paperwork be damned.  They were his allies. This was purely a tactical move--yes, nothing more than a tactical move which required him to subvert his Boss.

He tried not to think on that too hard.  It would only take him a few days, he thought.  His mind made up, he arranged for Pochi to be fed and his plants to be watered while he was away.  That taken care of, he finished packing up his bag, stepped outside, and set off. Rather, he would have set off, had he known at all where he was supposed to be going.

He closed his eyes and searched for Germany, assuming that Italy would be with him.  Naturally, he felt the unmistakable tug of Germany’s land first, but he focussed harder, searching past the land for the heart of it.  After several long seconds, finally, he found his ally a long way away and anchored his attention to him. When he opened his eyes, there was a trail of broken stepping stones winding through the ocean before him, now and again hidden by the waves sloshing over it.  He banished the road with a sigh and ducked back into his house.

He emerged again minutes later with a washtub and an oar.  These he set at his feet while he conjured the road up again.  Japan forewent the treacherous stepping stones and instead dragged his washtub with him to the water’s edge, sat himself and his belongings within it, and began to row. 

The stones guided him through the unhappy waters.  Japan fancied he saw them sway with the ocean and was glad he had taken a makeshift boat rather than risk falling into the sea with every misstep.  Even if the path he had forged to his allies was barely traversable, he was glad he had the skill of making it in the first place. Not everyone had the patience or skill that it took to find the person attached to the land.  He smiled, bittersweet, when he remembered the first time he had used his rare gift.

A nightmare had awoken him one night of his childhood, and China, his caretaker and comforter, was nowhere to be found in their dark, lonely house.  Too scared to fall asleep, Japan had screwed his eyes shut and, in a fit of childish desperation, figured that if he could wish hard enough to be where China was, he could be.  Much to his surprise, the moment he gave up and opened his eyes, there had been a trail laid out in front of him. 

China had been so proud of him when he met him at the end.

A particularly aggressive wave reminded Japan to focus.  He could feel the presence of his land growing fainter behind him, and he knew he would find Germany and Italy soon.  The farther he progressed, the more the rocks wobbled and swayed in their line, like a kite string in a windstorm. Japan kept rowing through the mess and assured himself that no matter who owned the land at the end of his road, friend or foe, he would at least be able to construct a sturdier road home from it after everything was said and done.

After hours of rowing and of having been splashed more times than he would have liked, an island finally surfaced at the end of his path.  The path itself had by this point dissolved into a trail of pebbles that bobbed helplessly in the ocean. The island’s long-awaited appearance served as a concrete reminder of Germany’s desperate message, and he rowed onward with renewed vigor, hoping he wasn’t too late to help his allies out of whatever situation had them sending hail-mary cries for help through radio broadcasts.

He scanned the distant shore as far as his eyes could see and saw nothing but trees looming above the sand--no buildings, no ships, no markers to signify the island’s owner.  Whoever’s island this was, it made no difference to Japan. He would search the whole island if he had to, fight off a whole platoon if it was what had to be done to come to the aid of his allies.  He only wished he had been able to find Germany’s location more exactly.

Perhaps he didn’t know him well enough.  

The moment he was able, he hauled himself out of his cramped little washtub and splashed with it onto the sand, past the shore, and into the treeline.  Then, he donned his pack, adjusted his sword at his hip, hid the washtub in a thicket of alstroemeria blossoms, and began his search. The sky was growing dark.  He had to hurry. His allies needed him.

Like a cord being severed, he let the fragile road that had connected him to his homeland disappear into the ocean mist, leaving him more cut-off from the world than he had been in a very long time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alstroemeria, otherwise known as Peruvian lilies, signify deep friendship or devotion  
> ALSO: Updates will be a little slower than usual until after June 4th. I'm going to be visiting with my big brother halfway across the planet, and Kai is busy making friends with a chihuahua named Paquito, so between the jetlag and the inter-species bonding, neither of us are going to have much time to write or to upload chapters. Thank you for your patience and for having read this far.   
> Love,  
> Jay


	11. Pretending to be People

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is being uploaded from my phone on a spotty connection, so please let us know if the formatting has strange errors in it. Otherwise, enjoy!  
> -Jay  
>  UPDATE June 4, 2018: I'm pretty sure I fixed the formatting issues, but still, if you see something that's weird or that doesn't make sense, say something! The reason I love the chapter-by-chapter fan fiction format so much is the feedback from all of you <3

“To anyone who can hear me, get this message to Japan.”  Germany crouched low over his radio, clasping the mouthpiece close to his lips, unsure whether there was even anyone who would help them if they heard.  “It is an emergency situation, and we are in dire need of assistance. If you get this message or by some miracle can hear me, Japan, we are stranded on an unclaimed island, so don’t come without transport.  Enlist the help of my Boss, if you have to, but please, get here quickly. We aren’t alone.” With that, he cut off the transmission and sat back on his haunches, deeply troubled.

Italy sat beside him in silence for a few long seconds before he said, “Do you think anyone heard us?”

“Almost certainly, yes, assuming we have any signal at all.”

“Really?” Italy replied, hopeful.

Germany nodded dejectedly and answered, “If our enemies didn’t know we were here before, they very likely do now.”  He got to his feet and hoisted the bulky radio back into his bag. “We need to move before they find us.”

Italy followed him up.  “Maybe it’s someone friendly, and this was all a big mistake,” he suggested, hugging his arms.  “I mean, I think coming here was a big mistake anyway, but we have to look on the bright side, right?”

“The bright side…” Germany hummed.  Italy watched him expectantly as they trudged down the shore.  “Well, I suppose that when we get captured, we’ll have a way off the island, even if it is on a prison boat.”

“That’s not a bright side, Germany!” Italy exclaimed, distressed.

Germany rolled his eyes, and they continued forward under the heat of the sun until night fell upon them, cool and welcoming. They slept in shifts that night, though neither of them slept very well at all past the knowledge that they could be ambushed at any moment.  They worried that if they hid, help wouldn’t be able to find them, and that if they didn’t, their enemies would find them first. Neither found them before dawn, however, and they rose for a weary, meager breakfast before they marched on.

The day passed uneventfully--there wasn’t a single sign of the island’s other guests.  They had found a pleasant spring by which to refill their canteens, and had even spied a few strange birds flitting about in the trees, and by evening, Italy and Germany had been lulled into peaceful chatter by the soothing island air.  

“It’s going to be dark soon,” said Italy.  “Can’t we stop for dinner? I want to eat some more of this fruit.”

“I don’t see why not,” Germany sighed, coming to a halt.  He scratched his head and surveyed the beach with narrowed eyes.  “Have we been here before?”

“Beats me,” said Italy, plopping down into the sand.  His boots were off the next instant. “It’s all starting to look the same, you know?  Water over here, trees over there--” He gestured with a particularly succulent bit of fruit before taking a bite out of it.  “The raft should be somewhere around here if we have,” he noted through a mouthful.

“Maybe we can look for it tomorrow,” Germany conceded, settling down next to Italy.  “It isn’t like there’s anything more useful to be done except gather supplies and survey the island.”

Italy stretched out on the sand and let out a content yawn.  “You’re always so worried about what’s useful,” he said. “Why don’t you try thinking about what’s fun?”

“We’re stranded on an island with people who potentially want to kill us, assuming exposure and starvation haven’t killed us several times over before they get the chance,” Germany answered him as he dug a protein bar from his bag.  

“That’s not fun at all!” Italy groaned.  “Try harder! That’s scary!”

“Forgive me if I find it difficult to ignore our imminent peril,” replied Germany, deadpan.  “Still, it is rather peaceful here. I can hardly feel my people’s stress all the way out here, and it seems like we probably won’t run out of food or water any time soon.”

Now Italy was beaming.  “That’s the spirit! It’ll be like a vacation!  Think about it, Germany: watching the sun set over the water every night, relaxing under the shady trees every day--” The sun kissed the water as he spoke.  “It’s almost like we’re not running for our lives at all.”

Germany hummed and was satisfied to finish his food before he spoke again.  “My Boss will be furious.”

“Why?” Italy asked, turning away from the sunset for the first time since he’d begun to watch it.  “He’s the one who sent you here in the first place.”

“Yes, he sent me here with one mission,” Germany sighed.  “I was given one job, and it doesn’t look like I’ll be able to do it.  We’ve already been here longer than planned--”

“Germany!” Italy gasped.  “Doesn’t that mean he’ll send someone to rescue us?  If he knows we’re here--”

“He would just as soon send out a whole battalion for the sake of one private,” said Germany, face darkening as quickly as the sky.  “As far as he is concerned, I’m a very specialized soldier with an above-average capacity for death. My brother is back home doing my paperwork, so until my Boss needs me for a task only I can fulfill…”  He buried his face in his hands, then. “I’m sorry I got you into this mess, Italy.”

“It’s alright, Germany,” said Italy, scooting closer to comfort his friend.  “Bosses are like that, I guess. I don’t think mine even knows I’m here.” Italy smiled sadly at his feet and said, “Romano was always more useful than me, anyway, you know?  As long as he’s there, they don’t need me for anything.” They were both quiet as the crickets began to chirp. “Maybe we needed a break,” he finally said, and Germany shot him a skeptical glance.  “Our Bosses don’t matter right now. Japan will find us, and then we’ll go home, and there will still be a war to fight.” He yawned and laid back, watching the sky for the first stars to pop into view.  “So for now, we’re taking a break. Maybe it’s a good thing we’re here. Out there, there’s all that fighting, but here on this beach, we get to be--” He interrupted himself with a laugh and glanced up at Germany.  “We get to be just Ludwig and Feliciano.”

“Just Ludwig,” Germany repeated.  

“And Feliciano,” Italy agreed.  Much to Italy’s surprise, Germany, too, laid back on the sand.

“I don’t think I’ve ever been ‘just Ludwig’ before,” said Germany, grunting as he settled himself.

“Sure you have,” said Italy, moving over to allow him some space.  “When you’re chatting with your brother, or walking your dogs, or… or practicing your sketches,” he said, eyes reflecting the first stars of evening.  “That’s when you’re Ludwig. It’s not just a name to stick on paperwork when you’re busy being Germany,” he laughed.

“I don’t think I’ll ever stop being Germany,” said Germany, allowing himself a smile.  “But… I do think I see your point,” he conceded.

The ocean filled the hush between them until Italy spoke again.  “Do you ever wish you could?”

“What?”

Italy’s eyes hadn’t left the stars.  “Do you ever wish you could stop being a nation?  You know, do you ever want to be a person? For real?”  When Germany didn’t answer him, he continued. “There’s people who can go home to their families--imagine that, having a big, big family!--and they can forget all about the fighting, even if for just an hour or two.  Humans are born, and then they die, and they might only see a few wars, maybe even none, but us…” Italy fixed his eyes on the light of one particular, far-away sun. “We don’t see wars. We become them. If we’re lucky, we get to pretend to be people during the time in between.”  The star in his vision blurred as he blinked away a tear that never fell. “Maybe that’s how nations die. We get so caught up in our wars and power that we forget to pretend to be people, too.”

Germany watched Italy out of the corner of his eye.  “Are you alright?”

“I’m just thinking,” Italy sighed.  He finally tore his attention from the stars and looked at the man lying next to him.  “Can I call you Ludwig from now on?”

Germany flushed.  “Why?”

“I just want to,” Italy insisted.  “Can I? Please? I’ll let you call me Feli, too, if you want.”

“Fine, Fine,” Germany relented, evidently quite flustered.  He shifted on the sand and huffed once before he said, “You can call me that, but only when we’re alone.”  A second huff was dislodged from within him when Italy slammed into him with a hug.

“Thanks Ludwig!” Italy chirped.  “Ludwig--it really is a nice name, you know?  Ludwig. Luddy--Lud! I could call you Lud--”

The possibility that he had just made an unfortunate agreement crossed Germany’s mind.  “Just Ludwig is fine,” he sighed, patting Italy on the back.

They laid like that for only a heartbeat longer before a faint rustling disturbed the foliage in the forest behind them.  The two of them jolted up with a start. Germany motioned for Italy to keep quiet and lay low, and Italy, in response, scuttled away to quiver behind a rock in his fright.  Still, the leaves rustled. Germany got quickly to his feet and crept silently across the sand towards the source of the noise. When the rustling drew nearer, he pressed his back to a tree and considered drawing his pistol, but he decided against it.  It was dark, and he knew he would need to conserve his ammunition. Besides, he knew he had the element of surprise. Italy bit his trembling lip and kept watch from behind the safety of his little rock

Finally, a figure broke loose from the darkness of the trees, and Germany tackled it to the ground with a roar of adrenaline.  The intruder gave a shout of his own and started to put up a fight, but the the scuffle turned out to be rather short-lived.

“Mr. Germany?” Japan panted, frozen halfway towards an uppercut.

Germany found himself likewise caught in the middle of preparing a chokehold.  “Japan,” he stated flatly. “Erm--”

“Japan!”  Before either of them had time to even consider getting up, Italy had propelled himself from his hiding spot and lodged himself between them.  “I’m so glad you’re here!” Italy exclaimed, taking Japan’s hand in his own. “I just knew you would come rescue us!”

“I came as soon as I got your message--Mr. Germany, Mr. Italy, if you would kindly get off of me--”  One last round of rustling was produced before the three of them were settled, seated by the forest’s edge under the stars.  “I had assumed there would be some type of battle occurring here, so when I got here and it was silent, I was very worried,” Japan finally continued, looking somewhat more put-together now that he could properly breathe.  “Where is the enemy?” he asked, brows knit in concern and confusion.

“We don’t know,” Germany replied, shaking his head.  “I was hoping that we would be able to regroup once you and the reinforcements arrived.”

“Oh,” said Japan.  “You sent for reinforcements?”

Germany stared at him.  “Yes,” he said. “You, and whatever crew was on the boat or plane you took to get here.  Where are they?”

“I didn’t…”  Japan shook his head.  “I didn’t take a boat. That would have taken far too long.”

“So you took a plane?” Italy hopefully provided.

“No,” said Japan, concern flowering in his chest.  “I travelled to you directly, as nations do. Is… Is there something wrong, Mr. Germany?”

Germany, who had buried his head in his hands, looked up just long enough to say, “Contested territory, Japan,” before he resumed massaging his temples.  

Immediately Japan frantically searched for the tug of his land.  His stomach dropped when he realized he couldn’t grasp it. “Ah,” he said, faintly.

Italy shifted uncomfortably in the silence.  “Are we stuck here, then?” he tentatively asked.  A pair of stiff nods were his answer. “Oh--alright, then, so…”  He swallowed. “Didn’t uh… Didn’t Germany tell you this was…?”

“The message was very choppy,” Japan sighed.  He pulled the water-smudged transcript from his pocket and passed it over for Italy and Germany to examine in the faint moonlight.  “It’s a miracle I got it at all.”

“Your Boss knows you’re here,” Germany stated, tired eyes flicking from the paper to Japan.  “He knows, and he’ll send someone to collect us, right?”

Japan felt the uncomfortable pain of failure bleed into his gut.  “If I had told him where I planned on going, he would have taken weeks to agree, if he agreed at all,” he said.

Germany swore and ran his hands through his hair.  “Good. Great,” he said, nodding all the while. “This is fine.”

“That’s the spirit, Germany!”

“Mr. Italy, I believe that was sarcasm.”

“...Oh.”

Crickets chirped at them from the trees as they sat and contemplated their situation.

Germany let out a long, measured breath.  “Japan.”

“Yes?”

“What did you bring with you?” Germany asked.  If they were to be stranded, it was vital that he take full stock of their resources, he decided.  The alternative would be sulking, and that wouldn’t be the least bit productive.

“I packed in a hurry,” Japan explained, setting his bag on the ground before them.  “But I did take care to pack the essentials, as well as a few comfort items. I didn’t expect to stay here more than a few nights, though.”

Germany took a cursory peek into the bag, and, given a nod from Japan, poked around within it.  “This is good,” he said, breathing deeply. “This should last us a while. I’m glad to see you came prepared.”

They fell into silence once more.

“It’s kind of cool that you got here how you did,” said Italy, peering up at Japan from where he had been absentmindedly pushing a stick through the dirt.  Japan peered questioningly back. “I don’t know anyone else who’s ever done that. You know, going to the nation, and not the, well…” He tossed the twig aside.  “The nation.”

Japan smiled half-heartedly at him.  “Thank you, Mr. Italy,” he said. “It is only a shame I can’t use that skill to help us out of our current situation.”

Waves sloshed lazily ashore as the three fell quiet yet again.

“I’ve got it!” Germany exclaimed, sending jolts of surprise through his companions.  “Come on,” he said, climbing to his feet. “Help me gather some sticks and rocks. We’ll write a message in the sand so that planes will see when they fly overhead.”

“Tonight?” Italy pouted.  “It’s dark.”

“There’s moonlight.”

“I’m tired!” Italy replied. As if to prove his point, he yawned and stretched out.  “Besides, it’s not like anyone’s going to see it all the way out here in the middle of the night.”

Germany scoffed at him.

“Mr. Germany, if I might make a suggestion,” said Japan placatingly.  “I am very tired as well, but I do see the urgency of our situation--” Italy wilted at that-- “So I would suggest that we sleep in shifts tonight, and that whoever is taking watch should gather stones and sticks from the immediate area in order to keep busy.”

This idea pleased Germany greatly.  They drew lots, and so it was decided that Germany would have the first watch, Japan the second, and Italy the last.  Nobody was more pleased with this arrangement than Italy, who had already set about making a little campfire by the time Germany trotted off into the woods to begin his night’s work.  

“Is that wise?” Japan asked, glancing doubtfully at Italy’s attempts at igniting a pile of twigs.  The kindling soon caught, however, and Italy’s face lit up in pleasure.

“It’ll be fine,” he assured Japan, tucking away his lighter.  “Aren’t you a little bit cold? This’ll keep us nice and cozy,” he said, grinning as he warmed his hands over the newly wakening flame.  Despite himself, Japan scooted closer, too. “Germany’s looking out for us,” said Italy. “It’ll be fine.”

Japan tossed a look over his shoulder to see Germany lugging a rock out onto the beach.  “He looks rather busy to me.”

“We can put it out if it bothers you.”

“No, no,” Japan sighed.  “It shouldn’t be a problem.  I just don’t wish to be captured.  Not on my first night here, anyway,” he said with a wry smile.  “Flames can draw much attention.”

“If they find us, they find us,” Italy shrugged.  “It’s not like there’s much cover here on the beach, anyway, and the woods are way too thick to try to sleep in the trees, so…” He smiled at at Japan.  “I would rather be warm when I sleep.” With that, he curled up next to the flame and let out a sigh of content. “I’m glad you’re here, Japan.” Then, he shut his eyes.

Japan hummed in response.  He thought a moment about his home, about his dog and his garden, and, namely, about his bed.  However, he soon began to think about his desk, and the never-ceasing flow of phone calls and responsibilities that came across it all of his waking hours--and some of his sleeping hours, on top of that--and about his Boss, who asked more of him with each day that the war raged on.  He couldn’t say that he was glad to be there, but in spite of everything, he wondered if perhaps things weren’t so bad as they seemed.

The fire crackled between them, joined occasionally in its chatter by the call of an owl, or by the sound of Germany adding another rock to his steadily-growing pile.  

“Hey, Japan?”

Japan nearly started.  “Yes Mr. Italy?”

Italy rolled over where he lay to look at him.  “What’s your human name?”

Sand scraped under Japan’s boots as he pulled his knees up to his chest.  “Why do you ask?”

“Germany told me his,” Italy explained, propping his head up on his hand.  “Mine’s Feliciano Vargas! Spain and big brother France helped me pick it out,” he told him, watching his friend through the rippling heat of the campfire.  “So, what’s yours?”

Japan shifted uncomfortably before answering his ally.  “You have a wonderful name, and I am honored that you have chosen to share it with me,” he began, clasping his hands tightly together.  “However, you must forgive me when I say that I do not feel comfortable giving you my name just yet.” When Italy’s smile dimmed, Japan hurried to explain himself.  “It’s not that I do not value our--” he floundered-- “our partnership, Mr. Italy, but I do believe that you and Mr. Germany share a different kind of relationship than we do-- erm, one that is more appropriate for the exchange of names, you see.”

“You think so?” Italy asked, genuinely baffled by this assertion.  “Aren’t we all friends?”

“You are… very close to Mr. Germany, are you not?” said Japan, dodging the second question entirely in favor of the first.  “Surely you would agree that we do not spend nearly as much time together.”

Italy’s brows furrowed as he considered this.  “We should change that,” he said, yawning.

“We will have plenty of time for that, it seems.”  A sense of unfairness wriggled in Japan’s mind as Italy returned to his quietness.  Italy had given him something very personal, and he had all but rejected it. Italy clearly desired some sense of intimacy between them.  Japan was not at all sure how much he would be able to provide, except--

He thought a moment longer and nodded subtly to himself.  “Goodnight, Italy.”

Italy nearly bolted upright in his elation.  “Hey! You didn’t call me ‘mister’ for once!” he exclaimed, beaming at Japan.

“You noticed,” Japan noted with a quirk of his lips, relieved that Italy had appreciated the gesture.

“Of course,” said Italy, who was still grinning, even as he lowered himself back down into his bed of sand.  “I like it. ‘Mister’ always made me feel like an old man,” he giggled.

“Oh,” Japan sheepishly replied.  “My apologies.”

“Don’t worry about it.  I’m kind of an old man anyway, right?”  Italy sighed happily and closed his eyes against the warmth of the fire.  “Thanks, Japan.”

“You’re welcome, Italy,” said Japan, unable to restrain a small smile himself when Italy grinned even brighter.  “Goodnight.”

Italy wished Japan a goodnight in return, and within minutes, his breathing became slow and even as the ocean’s waves.  Japan watched the fire as it, too, fell into its ashen slumber. He didn’t bother waking it. The moon was bright enough, he figured, and the air suitably warm for a tropical December--at least suitable enough for sitting and thinking.  He followed the fire’s last sparks up as they joined with the stars above in their twinkling, and there his eyes remained as he wondered if a war was any place for Feliciano Vargas.


	12. Shifts

“You’re still awake?”

Japan blinked up at Germany through his drowsy stupor.  “I’m afraid I’ve only been able to doze,” he admitted as soon as he was able to register that Germany had come back, and that he had spoken to him.  The bleary fog of half-sleep rolled off of him as he stood, a little disoriented, and no more rested than he had been when he had sat down hours before.  He sighed when he saw Italy, still snoring under the moonlight. “I don’t know how he does it,” he muttered, lamenting that there had been far too much on his own mind for sleep to have claimed him so easily as it did his ally.

“For how much he naps, you would think he would be a night owl,” said Germany, frowning down at Italy in wonder.

“It must be a skill of his,” Japan remarked.  He stretched and surveyed the beach, though his eyes stalled when they found the fruit of Germany’s hours of labor.  “You’ve finished it already,” he stated, examining the massive ‘SOS’ that Germany had constructed in the sand.

“Er,” said Germany, suddenly sheepish.  “Yes. I may have gotten a little… carried away.”

“It seems I've been robbed of my busy work,” said Japan, offering Germany a dry smile.  “I'm sure I'll find something to keep me awake until it's time for Italy to have his turn.”

Japan took a step away from the campsite to start his rounds, but Germany stopped him before he got any further than that.  “There's no need to wander, unless you want to,” said Germany. “I won't fall asleep for a while yet.”

“Aren’t you tired?”

Germany hummed noncommittally before he sat down and said, “I wanted to talk with you, if that’s alright.”

After some hesitation, Japan joined him on the ground.  “Is something the matter, Mr. Germany?”

“You mean besides being stuck on this island?”  When Japan only frowned at him, he let out a breath.  “Sorry. A little dark humor usually… never mind.” He cleared his throat and shifted.  “I wanted to ask if anything major has happened with the war over these last few days.”

“Well,” said Japan, thinking back.  “As for you or for Italy, I cannot say,” he said, shaking his head apologetically.  “I haven’t heard any news at all. I can only assume that things haven’t changed, and that if anything catastrophic had occurred before I left, I would have been informed.”

“Right,” Germany sighed.  He decided that he would need to trust his gut, although his gut told him to worry.  “Thank you, anyway. And what of your affairs?” 

“Things are going very well, thank you,” Japan replied, brightening.  “Despite all our new enemies, there has been some progress. My navy has won a pair of new islands out in the Pacific,” he said as the ghost of the warmth that expansion had given him flooded under his skin.  It faded after a heartbeat and left him cold. “I fear this success might only be the calm before the storm, so to speak, but acquiring new resources is rarely a bad thing.”

Germany grinned sideways at him.  “I have to agree with you there.”

Italy shifted in his sleep, then, but the two of them barely spared him a glance.

Japan hummed softly to himself.  Then, on an impulse, he said, “Pochi learned a new trick.”

“Pochi?”

“Ah, sorry,” Japan replied through a huff of laughter, amused despite himself at Germany’s confusion.  “Pochi is my dog.”

“I didn’t know you had a dog,” said Germany, now likewise amused.  “What trick?”

“He’s started to bring me my slippers when I’ve been at my desk too long,” Japan replied, smiling warmly to himself.  “He’s only a tiny little thing, you see, so the slippers are nearly as big as he is,” he chuckled. “He makes quite the sight trying to get me to go to bed.”

“Good boy,” Germany laughed.

“Your dogs would mistake him for a cotton ball, I think.”

“Berlitz and Aster might, but Blackie would go hide from him the second he realized he wasn’t,” said Germany, shaking his head.  “Little dogs are Blackie’s worst fear.”

“Are you serious?”

“Thunderstorms, gunfire, enemy soldiers, snakes--that’s all fine!” said Germany, waving his hand through the night air.  “But God forbid he sees a strange dog smaller than him. You’d think he’d seen a ghost for how he yelps and whimpers and hides away.”

This amused Japan greatly.  “That’s incredible,” he laughed, shaking his head.  “I don’t understand how Pochi could strike fear into the heart of anything that isn’t his chew toy.”

Germany laughed, but he had to stifle himself when Italy began to mutter a string of unintelligible, upset utterances into the sand.  “I suppose we should keep it down,” Germany murmured.

Japan nodded in agreement and whispered back.  “I shall start my shift, then.” He got to his feet and offered Germany a little wave.  “Sleep well.”

“I will, knowing you’ll have an eye out for me,” Germany replied.

“Two, if I can keep them both open,” Japan yawned, though he smiled.  “Goodnight, Germany.”

Germany bid him goodnight, and so Japan went off to be with his lonely thoughts, though he found them much harder to dwell upon past a certain warmth that had bloomed in his chest.  His thoughts had become difficult to grasp within the murky shroud of his sleepiness, but one pleasing thought had bubbled to the surface: even if he couldn’t sleep, he could still protect his friends.

Japan watched the beach, watched the trees, watched Germany and Italy take their rest.  Mostly, however, he watched the moon trace its path across the stars until it was time for him to wake Italy.  He had just enough wherewithal left in him by the time he returned to make sure that Italy was fully awake before he settled himself in the sand.  Sleep took him in the same moment. 

 

***

 

“Guys!  Wake up!”

Germany shot upright and drew his gun while Japan merely tensed awake to find the sun sending the long dawn-shadows of the forest filtering across their sleeping grounds.

“What is it, Italy?” Japan mumbled, still trying to process whether or not he should be alarmed.  He decided against it when Italy plopped down next to him with three bowls of fruit.

“I made breakfast!” Italy announced, passing out the overfull bowls to his groggy friends.  Germany let out a long breath before holstering his gun and taking what was offered him. Japan, meanwhile, had only managed to prop himself up on his arm before his breakfast had been thrust upon him.

Germany blinked at the diced fruit in the bowl, and then squinted at the little wooden bowl itself.  It certainly wasn’t military regulation. “Where did you get this?”

“From the trees, silly,” replied Italy through a mouthful of fruit.

“No,” said Germany tiredly.  “No. The bowls, Italy. Where did you get the bowls?”

“If you like them, I’ll give them to you for free, you know.”

“God,” Germany answered him, resisting the powerful urge to give up for the day and go back to sleep.  “Humor me, Italy, and tell me where you got these bowls.”

“Um, well…” Italy scrunched up his face as he attempted to remember.  “I found them in the trees last night when I was keeping watch. At first, when I tripped over them, I thought they were weird coconuts, but then I picked them up and--well, here they are!”

“Ah,” said Germany, frowning into his fruit.  Somehow, the answer had only made him grumpier.  

Japan, on the other hand, had become quite pensive.  He pushed himself up to sit upright, though not once did he stop staring at the bowl in his hands.  Finally, the source of the sense of familiarity that the bowl had given him clicked in his mind. “They look--” his voice caught in his tired throat, so he coughed and tried again.  “Pardon me. They look like China’s travel dishes.”

“You think so?” Italy turned the half-depleted bowl in his hands to inspect it more closely.  Then, he placed it on top of his head and began to balance it there. “I guess that means he’s here, too.  You know,” he added, ducking from side to side to keep his breakfast from falling over. “There’s more than one bowl.  He probably brought friends, don’t you think?”

“That would make sense, yes,” Germany sighed, running his hand through his hair.  “But how many friends? And which ones?”

“Mr. Russia would be one of my first guesses,” Japan supplied, poking at his breakfast.  “They’re old friends. And old enemies.” He paused. “ Actually, it is just as likely that Mr. Russia invited himself along as it is that China invited him.”

“Okay, but there’s probably others,” Italy pointed out, reaching into the bowl on his head for another slice of fruit.  “More bowls.”

Germany leaned back on his hands.  “America should be interested in real-estate now that he’s officially part of the war, though I doubt China would just give it to him, or that it would be up to just the two of them to make that decision.  England would want to look over their shoulders, which means France might be here, too...”

“Why don’t we assume that they’re all here, and be pleasantly surprised when there are only two or three of them here with us?” Japan suggested.

“Hey, that’s pretty optimistic, Japan!” Italy giggled.

“That’s what I was thinking,” Germany grumbled. 

“Optimistic or not,” said Japan decidedly, “They’re probably fighting over this little island amongst themselves.  If they’re fighting each other as well as us, maybe we aren’t so badly outnumbered after all.”

“They’re still going to try to capture us the moment they find us,” Germany pointed out.

“Then let’s not let them find us until we’re done with our vacation,” said Italy as he jumped to his feet and threw his bowl aside.  It rolled a short way down the beach before winding to a halt. “I wanna go for a walk.”

There was no denying that they had little better to do, so the three of them took their things, abandoned their campsite, picked a direction, and began to wander.

Italy skipped ahead down the beach, singing to himself as he was prone to doing.  Germany and Japan lagged behind. They found no reason to hurry. Nevertheless, Italy shouted back at them to catch up with him.  Japan, at least, refused to carry himself any quicker than a swift walk, though Germany began to jog when Italy disappeared behind a bend.

Japan saw Germany halt abruptly when he finally caught up to Italy.  With curiosity quickening his pace, Japan met up with them shortly thereafter, and he, too, stopped in his tracks.  “Italy,” he said, eyeing up the massive sand sculpture that dominated that corner of the beach. “What is that?”

“It’s a big bowl of pasta!” Italy proudly answered him.  “Can’t you tell? I got kind of bored when I was keeping watch last night--and a little hungry, too, you know?--so I built a big bowl of pasta!”  He spun on his heel and grandly showcased his work with his hands. “What do you think?”

Germany scratched his head.  “Well…”

“Erm...” Japan licked his lips and creased his brow, marvelling up at the sculpture.  “How… How did you get the fork to… do... that?”

“Do what?”

“It’s floating.”

“No, no,” Italy assured him, “It’s attached to the rest of the sculpture, see?”  Italy gestured vaguely to the dubiously thin columns of sand-pasta rolled around the fork.

Germany followed Japan’s gaze and crossed his arms in concern.  “Generally speaking, Italy, gravity doesn’t... “ His shoulders sagged.  “It doesn’t work like that.”

Italy wasn’t having it.  He crossed his arms and huffed, “You guys just don’t know how to appreciate art.”

“Perhaps you do not know how to appreciate physics,” muttered Japan.

“Hold on!” Germany exclaimed, jabbing a finger at Italy’s chest.  “What were you doing all the way out here last night? You were supposed to be watching out for us!”

“I was watching! I really was!  I just kind of lost track of where I was after I went looking in the trees, so when I popped out over here, I thought, hey!  I’ll make a landmark so I won’t get turned around again.” Italy turned to admire his handiwork as he added, “After I finished it, I came right back!”

Germany only sighed.

“It is rather impressive,” Japan admitted, remembering how he himself had not exactly been entirely vigilant the night before, either.

Italy spun to grin at him.  “Thanks, Japan! Hey, does anyone else want a bath?”  Before either of his companions had time to object, Italy threw half his uniform to the wind and made for the ocean.

“I guess we’re doing this now, then,” said Germany, taking his resigned seat in the sand.

Japan joined him.  “I guess so.”

Italy’s laughter filled the air.

“It’s not so bad,” said Germany.

“No,” Japan agreed.  “I don’t think it’s so bad at all.”

“Guys!  Guys!” Italy called to them from the shallow waves.  “Let’s play Marco Polo! Marco!”

“Polo,” they answered him.

“Marco!”

“Polo,” said Japan, before he leaned over to Germany and said, “I’m not sure he understands this game.  I mean, perhaps--erm, Polo!--perhaps I don’t understand it myself, or maybe it’s different when my people play it, but--Polo!--aren’t we supposed to be out there with him?”

Germany laughed lightly and said, “Those are definitely the rules, as far as I know, but as far as--Polo!  Italy, you’re getting colder!-- as far as understanding the game…” Italy splashed around in blind glee. Germany’s heart softened as he watched him.  “He’s having fun, isn’t he?” 

Japan chuckled and answered, “That he is.  Polo!”

A butterfly took that moment to flutter around them through the breeze.  They watched it circle the spaghetti sculpture, and they watched it float curiously around Italy before an overzealous splash sent it elsewhere.  It rounded back and flew over their heads towards the trees, and that was the last they saw of it.

Another few sets of eyes were there to watch the butterfly’s passage.  These eyes, however, were far more interested in the trio that remained on the beach, entirely unaware of those that watched them.  


	13. The Slow Hunt

“Just as I thought,” England snickered as he retreated with Canada and China through the brush.  “They’ve already let their guards down.”

“We should strike now, then,” China urged him.  Being trapped on the island with everyone else had long since lost its appeal.  “Italy was half naked in the ocean, and Japan looked like he was ready to take a nap.  We’re not going to get them less prepared than that.”

Canada bit his lip and said, “Yeah, but we’re not exactly prepared to capture them right now, either.”

“We’ll report back to the others, just like we planned,” England decided with a shake of his head.  “Then we’ll come find them again tonight. I doubt they’ll have gone far.”

“Six against three…” Canada murmured, forcing his way through a thicket.  “I kind of feel sorry for them.” 

“Well, if they didn’t want to have to fight the whole world, they shouldn’t have tried to take the whole world over,” said England.

“Says you,” China muttered.

“I beg your pardon?”  England rounded on China, eyebrows furrowed, glowering.

Unfazed, China simply brushed past him.  “Oh, nothing. I’m just amazed you don’t have more friends,” he deadpanned.

“I didn’t realize it was honesty hour,” England drawled.  He stubbornly plodded after China, determined to have the last word.  “If we’re all spilling our guts, I’ll gladly accept the chance to say that your food tastes like--”

“I believe you’re confusing your insecurities for mine,” China interrupted him. 

England opened his mouth to retaliate, but Canada didn’t give him the chance.  “Can we please go one hour without an argument?” he pleaded. 

“No,” China and England replied in spiteful unison.

“At least you agree on that,” Canada sighed.  “All I ask is that I don’t have to drag either of your strangled bodies back to camp.”  He wondered with more than a little resignation if the others had managed not to kill each other while they’d been out. 

“We won’t need to strangle each other if we let him cook,” said China, dodging another glare from England as he ducked under a tree branch.  “Besides,” he added, holding the branch back so that his companions could pass under it. “Who said I wouldn’t help you drag him back after I strangled him?”  He cocked a wry grin at Canada as he spoke, although Canada could only manage to offer him a grimace in return. 

“What a gentleman,” England grumbled, narrowly avoiding the branch’s recoil as China released it just behind him.

“I’m sure you would offer the same courtesy under the opposite circumstances,” China assured England, patting him on the shoulder as they trudged along.  “It’s only polite to assist with the disposal of the body after you strangle someone.”

“Too right,” England calmly agreed, much to Canada’s surprise.  “It’s important to keep common decency in mind when some people are just begging to be disposed of.”  He shot one last, disapproving glance at China, but it withered into a resigned sigh when he saw that China’s smugness would not be beaten.  England shoved his hands in his pockets and said, “I suppose in our cases, though, it’s more like storage than disposal, isn’t it? We’ll be back before too long, after all.  Why,” he chuckled, “there were some times I was glad nobody tried to dispose of me.”

China huffed a laugh.  “Do you hear that, Canada?  He’s giving us permission to leave him out here after I strangle him.”

“Hey!” England exclaimed.  “All I’m saying is that I’ve woken up on the wrong side of a casket a few too many times!” 

“You know what,” Canada declared, shaking his head.  “I”m staying out of this. You guys can go hide your own dead bodies yourselves, for all I care.”

“Oh, you killed them already, did you?”  The three of them startled despite the friendly wave Russia gave when he poked his head out of the trees.  America and France could be heard crashing through the brush right behind him. “Good job, friend Canada,” said Russia, adjusting the firewood he had stowed under his arm.  “Let’s go get the bodies before they regenerate.”

“Uh,” said Canada, swallowing.

“Woah, Canada killed someone?” America exclaimed, tumbling onto the scene before Canada had time to explain himself.  “Sick! I didn’t think you had it in you, bro.”

“Excuse me?”  France was much less pleased than his companions at hearing this news.  He dropped every piece of fruit he had been carrying just to dig his finger into Canada’s chest.  “Canada, what did you do?” 

“I didn’t kill anyone!”  By this point, Canada was wishing that someone would make good on their threats to strangle someone, and was hoping very hard that that someone would be him.  Unfortunately, China was choking too hard on his own laughter to consider wringing Canada’s neck, and England looked far too amused to put Canada out of his misery.

“That’s a pity,” said Russia, grinning nonetheless.  “Did you find them, at least?”

“That we did,” said England, unable to stop his lips twitching upwards as Canada fended off the last of France’s suspicious looks.  “They’re on the northern beach, not too far from here.”

America was already rolling up his sleeves.  “Let’s go get them, then!”

“Not so fast, my eager friend,” said France, finally turning from Canada so that he could plant a firm hand on America’s shoulder to keep him from running off on his own.  “If we wait until night, we’ll be able to ambush them more easily than if we go charging into their camp right now.”

“I just want to be home for Christmas, alright?” America countered, shrugging France away.  Otherwise, he stayed put.

“Blimey, that is only a few days away,” said England.  “I almost forgot about it, to be honest.”

“Oh, yeah!” Canada declared.  “I was going to invite you guys over to my place for some hot chocolate or something,” he admitted with a shy grin.  “I know we’re all busy, but if we can get off this island before Christmas…”

“That would be lovely,” said Russia.  “Although, if it turns out that we do not get back before your Christmas time, it’s okay!  We can all celebrate Christmas time at my house, later.”

China only crossed his arms and said, “I think I have better things to do with my time than spending even more of it with you all.”

“Spoil sport,” said France, frowning at him before he turned to Canada and said, “I would love to accept your offer, if I can.”

“You can count me in, too,” said America, putting an arm around his shoulders.

England smiled to himself and said, “It would be nice to have a break for the holidays.”

“It will be a much longer break if you all come to my house,” said Russia, smiling hopefully.

“I can’t afford a long break,” England replied, waving him off. 

America was quick to make a similar excuse.  “Yeah, and your place is really far away from mine,” he said.  “It would take me forever to get there.”

“We’re neighbors, though.”

“In any case,” said France, clearing his throat, “We should focus on capturing this island before we start worrying about house parties.”

“I suppose you are right,” Russia agreed, still keeping his smile despite the disappointment he felt welling up in him.  The others began to chatter about strategy, but Russia slowed his pace and soon fell to the back of the group.

He nearly startled when China appeared at his side, muttering, “If those four are out of my hair for a day, it’ll be the best gift I’ve gotten all year.”

There was quiet between them before Russia simply said, “They’re not so bad.  Would you rather fight this war alone?”

“Almost,” China huffed, but he quickly deflated with a sigh.  “Almost. I’m not sure I would choose them for friends, but they do make worthy allies.”

“Every friend is an ally, but not every ally is a friend.”  Russia hummed thoughtfully before he gave China a soft, genuine smile.  “I think life would be much easier if they were always the same, don’t you?”

China allowed himself a smile, as well.  “I think it gets pretty simple once you learn to tell the difference.”

***

When the sun began to yawn the evening’s final weary rays, the six of them set out through the forest to stalk their prey.  They found them exactly where they had suspected they would, nestled around a newborn campfire at the edge of the long shadow that Italy’s sand sculpture sent dashing across the sand.  Before the Axis had time to notice that they were being watched, England silently gestured for the rest of his companions to retreat a ways into the shelter of the trees.

“Alright,” he whispered. “France and I will take the first watch to keep an eye on them until they go to sleep.”

“Why do I have to watch with you?”

“Because!” England shushed him. “That’s why. The rest of you, set up camp, over--” He floundered, searching, before he continued-- “Over there, yes, by that tree America said kind of looked like China.”

“I don’t see the resemblance,” China muttered.

America snickered and whispered, “Sorry, you’re right. Don’t know what I was thinking.  You’re way too short to—“

England cleared his throat rather sharply. “If there are no questions, we’ll be back in a couple of hours. Come on, France.”

The group unceremoniously broke apart, and it was only a matter of minutes before France and England found themselves hiding in the bushes a safe distance from their marks.  They appeared to be having fun, which was more than England had been able to manage that day. Italy was gesturing wildly to his friends, grinning as he relayed to them what must have been a fantastic tale. Even Japan was smiling, and occasionally, they could see Germany’s shoulders shake with a laugh.  

It looked  to England like a great deal of fun, in fact, and he wondered a little spitefully why he and his allies couldn’t sit around and laugh like that.  “I hope they’re enjoying themselves,” England mumbled, growing more lonesome with every giggle he caught on the wind. “Can’t wait to capture them so we can all go home.  God, I want a nice, long bath. My bed, too.”

“All in good time,” France assured him, settling in for a long night.  “Those three aren’t going anywhere, and neither is your bed.” He paused, remembering the hobby Germany had recently made of tossing bombs at London and added, “Er… probably, anyway.  We’ll get them soon enough.”

“Sure, but we’re not going anywhere fast, either.”  England shifted where he crouched. “Leave it to my luck to get me stuck waiting around on this island with the Axis and you.”

France huffed a laugh and said, “I know why you picked me as a watch partner.”

“Is that so?”

“Oh yes,” said France, smiling a snake’s grin. “Arthur, my dear, you knew nobody else would tolerate your bitter attitude.”

“Maybe I was worried nobody would want to go with you,” England huffed. “I’m biting the bullet for the sake of stable watch shifts, Frog.  This has nothing to do with my bitter attitude.”

“Matthew would have gladly gone with you, you know,” said France, ignoring England’s remarks.  “Alfred, too, even if he would have acted as contrary as you do the whole time. God knows he takes after you.”

“I’m starting to wish I had asked Russia instead,” England grumbled. “He’s at least quiet.”

“You shouldn’t be so insecure.”

“You’re insufferable.”

“You love me for it.”

“Shut up, Francis.”

France was far too happy with himself to feel the need to continue, and England said no more.  Consequently, the two of them nearly started dozing at their post as they waited for the Axis to go to bed.  However, Japan looked to have just begun a ghost story, judging by the way Italy hid behind his hands, so England and France forfeited their post to China and Canada. 

Neither of them said a word until over an hour into their shift, when Canada whispered, “Thanks for having my back earlier.  I know you would have rather gone with Russia.”

“Don’t mention it,” said China.  After a beat, he muttered, “I wouldn’t want to share my shift with your brother, either.”

“It wouldn’t be so bad if we’d had some time to ourselves since we got here,” Canada continued, slumping tiredly where he crouched.  China didn’t appear to care very much, but Canada persisted nonetheless. “I can only handle him in small doses, I think. It’s probably better that way.  I’m not sure we’d like each other if we had to be together all the time like this.” 

“Understandable,” China hummed.  He watched with detached interest as Japan went to retrieve dry kindling from the treeline far away from where they crouched.  “I only hope that nobody has gotten murdered between him and the other three,” he mused, twirling a twig between his fingers, but then he paused.  “Actually--”

“What’s with you guys and murder?”  Canada huffed.

“You’ll understand when you’re older.”

“God, I hope not.”

China snorted at that, and they were both content to continue their watch in silence until they passed on their duties to Russia and America.

“Don’t these dweebs ever sleep?” America yawned, bored only fifteen minutes into their shift. “What are they even doing over there?” 

“It looks to me like they’re having a very late dinner,” said Russia, squinting through the darkness as Germany pulled a package of ration crackers from his pack.  When Japan produced a bag of marshmallows, he added, “Japanese rations are not as hardy as I expected they would be.”

“No way!” America exclaimed. “They’re gonna make s’mores!”

“Keep your voice down.”

“Sure, whatever.  I guess Italy brought the chocolate. That would be kind of cute. Hah, with their powers combined: gross ration crackers, stale marshmallows, and melted chocolate, they’re the snack-sis powers.”

“You’re very loud.”

“Thanks, I try,” America dryly replied.  “Seriously though, where’s the chocolate?  You can’t do s’mores without chocolate. That’s a crime.”

“And I thought my Boss was strict.”

“Yeah, that’s because he is.”  When Russia didn’t deign to respond to him, America sighed loudly.  “God, look at them, acting like they like each other, eating s’mores without chocolate.  Freakin’ heathens. That’s the kind of evil there is in store if we let them win. S’mores without chocolate.” 

“Among other things,” said Russia, irritation darkening his brow  

“Other things, yeah,” America agreed, his mouth twisting into a sour frown as he watched Japan skewer another marshmallow.  “Things like guys you thought were decent stabbing you in the back. Hey, Axis losers! One of you is a dirty back stabber! Just thought you should know!”

“Would you mind toning it down?”

“Kind of hard to tone it down when you’re bored out of your skull,” America yawned.  “Got nothing to do until they decide to call it a freaking day already!” he added, glaring at the three figures huddled around their campfire.

Russia was quiet for a long second before he said, “Why don’t we play a game?”

“A game?  Seriously?”

“Yes,” said Russia, nodding, eyes bright.  “Whoever can go the longest without talking wins.”

America rolled his eyes.  “That’s stupid. You’re going to lose.”

“Well, if I hadn’t just won--”

“Starting now.”  

Russia had just begun to congratulate himself on his well-earned peace and quiet when America sprang to his feet beside him.

“Shit!” America shouted, drawing his gun, “They’re making a break for it!”

Russia leapt to his feet as well and went crashing through the brush onto the beach, racing after the three forms retreating quickly into the dark.  Gunshots thundered through the night as America sent bullets speeding ahead. Their allies would hear the shots; too late, America knew, but he wasn’t aiming to raise an alarm.  He kept firing as they ran, and would have continued until he ran out of ammunition had a wall of sand not come crashing down on him the moment he passed Italy’s sculpture.

“America!” Russia called, skidding to a halt.  He knew their enemies would be long gone before they even had the hope of catching up, so he gave up the pursuit in favor of darting over to where America had just been buried.  “Are you alright?”

America’s head poked out of the sand not a second later.  As soon as he was done spitting out sand, he swore loudly and slammed his fist into the sculpture’s remains.  “They got away!”

“Obviously,” Russia answered him.  “I wouldn’t worry, though,” he said, just as the voices of their allies could be heard coming up behind them.  “This island is very small. We’re bound to catch them soon.”

“Yeah, yeah.  I’m gonna have sand in places I didn’t know I had,” America complained, pushing himself up and out of the sand.  Suddenly, though, a smile swept across his face. “You know what, though?” He brushed off his knees and patted the sand out of his gun.  “We might just have a blood trail to follow, soon.”


	14. Thinking With the Heart

“Please do not be alarmed.” Japan smiled serenely through the glow of the campfire as it danced across his face.  “However, I believe we are being observed.”

“What?”  Italy nearly dropped his s’more.  Suddenly, the pale darkness that had made their campsite cozy began to threaten him with dangers unknown.  “Where? Please tell me you’re joking, Japan, I really don’t want to die--”

“Italy, please, remain calm,” Japan insisted.  He wedged another marshmallow between two crackers and took a bite.  “If we act unnaturally, they’re sure to know we’re on to them.”

“They?” said Germany.  Although he had schooled his expression, he was undeniably rigid where he sat.  “How many are there?”

“At least two,” said Japan, the picture of serenity.  “Possibly more. It is rather hard to tell in this darkness.”

“Close?”

“Close enough that you can hear them bicker if you listen,” Japan answered him.  At his word, his companions listened hard, and they, too, heard the vague sounds of annoyance being carried to them on the breeze. 

“What do we do?” Italy fretted, s’more forgotten in his trembling hands.  “Can you tell who it is? Maybe they’re actually just some lost tourists or--or people stranded just like us!  Or maybe even friends!”

“The only voice that is clear to me is Mr. America’s,” said Japan.  Though he smiled still, his eyes were as cold as the distant moon when he added, “I could not count him a friend.”

“They’re probably waiting for us to fall asleep,” Germany sighed, running a hand through his hair. “We have to assume the others are nearby, which would make fighting them a mistake.”

“Are you saying we should run?” Italy asked him, on the verge of panic.  “This is bad! You never tell us to run! I mean, except when we’re training--you tell us to run a lot, actually--but never away from a fight!”

“You are very good at running, Italy,” Germany patiently reminded him.  “Are you both ready?”

The fire crackled as they read each other’s faces.  They could hear no voices on the wind anymore, only the cries of insects and the ocean’s slow, even breathing.

All at once, they ran.

Shouts and gunfire erupted behind them, but they didn’t dare spare a backwards glance.  Germany urged them forward with his own yells. “A little farther! Dive for the trees once we pass the bend!”  A bullet whizzed past his head. “Keep running!”

“I had intended to,” Japan huffed, taking the reckless pace Germany had set in stride.  

Italy, however, had dashed far ahead with his hands clasped over his head.  He was a siren of panic, wailing louder with each bullet that zipped past him like a hornet in the night.  Suddenly, though, just when Italy felt they would never make it away in one piece, the hail of bullets ceased, and the three of them kept running until they had cleared the beach and plunged themselves deep into the woods.

“Come on,” Italy begged, having stopped to wait for Germany and Japan in a shadowy thicket.  “They could be chasing us still, we have to keep going!”

Germany nodded in grim accord, and despite his panting, moved to continue at a swift jog through the trees.  “You’re absolutely right. We need a hiding place--”

“Just a moment, please.”

Germany and Italy both whirled to face Japan where he sagged against a tree, clutching at his shoulder.  Had it not been for the stark white of Japan’s uniform, they wouldn’t have been able to make out the blood from the darkness.

A moment was all it took before Germany swore and began to root through his bag for their medical supplies, but Japan stopped him once again.  “I’m going to pass out soon,” he panted, already dizzy from the blood loss. “I’ll only hold you back. Take Italy and run.”

Germany held Japan’s gaze.  It made sense. If Japan were to be captured, as Germany suspected he would be, they could at least attempt to rescue him.  Even if Japan died, he would regenerate. There was always the chance that Japan could evade both capture and death, and though those chances were slim, the tactical choice seemed to be leaving him.  If they lagged behind to care for him, they could all be captured.

They could lose the island.

With a swift, silent nod, Germany turned to do as Japan had instructed, but Italy was at Japan’s side before Germany could take so much as a step in the other direction.

“I’m not leaving you!” he stated, already rummaging around for his own medical kit.  His brows were set in fierce determination despite the way Germany tugged at his shoulder, trying to drag him away.

“Italy--” Japan pleaded, eyes desperate even through the encroaching haze.  “Feliciano. You have to run, now.”

“Japan’s right!” Germany urged him, still pulling even as Italy shrugged him off at every touch.  “Do you want to be captured? If we don’t leave now, we’ll all be captured, and there will be nobody to help Japan later, if--”

“I’m helping him now!” Italy bit back as he ripped a bandage from his pack.  “Leave if you want. I’m staying.” Without another look at Germany, Italy began tending to Japan’s wound with a gentleness that defied the angry set of his jaw.

It had become infuriatingly obvious to Germany that he could not pull Italy from Japan’s side without first rendering him unconscious.  “God damn it,” he growled, grinding his anger and frustration out through his teeth. In the same breath, he got to work right beside Italy, praying that they could get his wound tied off fast enough that they could carry him away before their enemies found them.

Japan hissed when Italy finally tied off the final bandage in a painfully tight knot.  “Done?” he panted, clutching at Germany with blood-soaked fingertips in a frail attempt at preventing his knees from buckling beneath him.  

“Done!” Italy chirped, putting on a smile for his friend.  “Germany, carry him,” he instructed, shouldering his bag and taking Japan’s as well.  “We can still do this.”

Germany hoisted Japan onto his back with a grunt and set off after Italy.  With great haste, they pushed through the brush and bushes, keeping their eyes forward until they came upon a tight cave that had been carved out by the mouth of a stream, the only sign of its existence the water that jostled the vines that guarded it.  Italy and Germany took great care to keep Japan out of the water when they pressed past the vines and laid him down to rest on the damp, smooth floor of the cave. Japan was nearly unconscious when he muttered, “Thank you,” and within seconds, he let the pain and weariness pull him under.

Italy spent a moment listening for Japan’s steady breathing before he knelt by the stream and began to rinse his hands of the blood that covered them.  The water was cold. He was sure his hands would be stained for a long while, no matter how hard he scrubbed.

Germany likewise rinsed his hands and wiped them off on his trousers.  Then, he took off his pack and settled himself against the cave wall, resigned to a tense, uncomfortable night with his thoughts.  Guilt was there, tugging at his sleeves, but he paid it no heed. He much preferred to think on strategy, on their likelihood of capture, on anything but those emotions that served no purpose in a war except to torment and distract.  He had spent so much time on his thoughts that he had presumed Italy to be asleep before he heard, “Hey, Ludwig.” Although the darkness made it difficult to see, Germany could feel Italy’s eyes on him. “You didn’t leave us behind.”

There was a great pause.  “You stayed. I didn’t have a choice.”

“I don’t see how me staying with him takes away your free will, Luddy.”

Germany let an irritated puff of air through his nostrils.  “Then allow me to explain,” he calmly replied. “By staying, you made it impossible for me to leave without forcing me to deal with the possibility that I might have to rescue both you and Japan from the enemy singlehandedly.  So, the next best option became staying to help so that we could get out of there faster, and maybe even avoid all of us getting captured.” He shifted against the cold rock and added, “I merely did what was tactically appropriate.”

He hated that he could feel Italy pouting at him.  “You say that like it’s the worst thing in the world to act with your heart.”

“That’s because it is!” Germany retorted, though when Japan let out a tired groan, he took a breath and lowered his voice.  “Italy--” He stopped himself. “Feliciano. When you think with your heart instead of your head, unpredictable things happen.”

“Are you saying we should have left him?”

“What I’m saying,” Germany insisted, “Is that when Japan asked us to leave him, he was sure that if we did, we would escape.  Now, I can’t speak for him, but I’m assuming he even considered that he could serve as a distraction if the enemy found him first.  He was acting with his head. You,” he added, giving Italy a half-hearted poke, “had no idea if we would make it or not.”

“But we did.”

Germany sighed.  “Yes, we did, but consider this possibility, Feliciano: we stayed behind to help--against Japan’s wishes--and then we were all captured.  Maybe they killed us immediately, or maybe they tortured us into surrender, but we lost the island in either case. All this, because you elected to think with your heart.”

Italy swallowed thickly before he said, “That stuff never happened, though, Lud.  We’re here. All of us. Japan is here.” He smiled in the gloom. “Safe. If we had thought without our hearts, like you and Japan wanted to do, Japan would be out there, hurt, and… and maybe scared.  Definitely alone. He’s our friend. I couldn’t leave him like that.” There was a dull rustle as he shifted closer to Germany. “Apparently, you couldn’t do it either, Ludwig.”

Germany closed his eyes against the darkness.  “It went well, this time. This time, it didn’t end in suffering and defeat, but if it had--If things had gone differently, because of an action I went along with--”  He let out a long breath. “Italy, we would both do better to remember that a battlefield is no place for the heart.”

“Well if you can’t take it there, what good is it in the first place?” Italy huffed.  “If you rip out your heart before you go off to war, all sorts of terrible, cruel, greedy things will rush in to fill its place.  Thinking with your heart is what keeps you human.”

“Then it’s a good thing we aren’t human, now isn’t it?”  The only response that came to Germany was the sound of water rushing down and away from him, out into the darkness of the forest outside.  When he couldn’t stand the noise any longer, he whispered, “Italy?” 

Italy sighed, and, much to Germany’s surprise, laid his head on his shoulder.  “That’s ‘Feliciano’ to you,” he quietly reminded him.

“Ah,” said Germany, pulling closer to Italy.  He rested his cheek on top of Italy’s head. “So it is.”

It wasn’t long before Germany was left alone with Japan and Italy’s even breathing and the trickle of water at his feet.  He dozed fitfully through the night; there was the ever-persistent worry of capture keeping him awake, not to mention the chill of stone against his weary body.  He was awake when the dawn’s first light reached into their shelter, past the vines that hid it from view, dipping into the water therein. 

Germany looked after the light, following it to the back of the cave where Japan rested.  The pallor of his skin, when compared to the crimson of his clothes, would have betrayed death in a human-- but Japan was a nation, Germany reminded himself.  Nations had nothing to fear of death. As long as they remained powerful, death remained a mere inconvenience.

He worried for his brother.  He wondered if he feared death in the same way humans feared death.  He wondered, too, if Prussia would have acted differently if forced to choose between reckless compassion and the sure preservation of the greater good.  Would he have risked all of them to save one of them, or would he have left one to an uncertain fate in order to secure a clearer shot at victory for the rest?  The only thing of which he was certain was that the heart was a reckless, fragile, fearful thing.

Italy still slept on his shoulder, despite the way the sun had begun to caress his face.  There was blood on his cheek that Germany hadn’t noticed before; in fact, the more he looked, the more he saw.  There was blood on Italy’s hands, on his clothes, underneath his fingernails. Germany began to inspect himself in the new light of day and found that Japan had left a single handprint on his sleeve, clutching, tugging, grasping.

“We need to leave, don’t we?”

Germany looked up to find Japan slumped against the wall of the cave, frail, though awake.  “How are you feeling?” Germany asked him. The dawn had struck; he knew they were likely being tracked already, but seeing Japan looking so weary gave him pause. 

“Sore,” said Japan.  He gave his shoulder a hesitant roll and winced, stopping halfway.  “Just sore. I am more than ready to move.”

Germany gave him a long look.  “We’ll change your bandages first.  It’ll only take a minute.”

“Very well.”  Japan let his eyes rest just long enough so that he could take a deep breath and let the earthy scent in the air ground him against his pain.  Then, he set to work peeling layer after bloody layer of cloth away from his wound. 

Delicately, Germany slid out from from under Italy’s snoring head and shook him awake.  It only took a few repetitions of his name before Italy was mumbling something about how he would have rather been sleeping.  That was good enough for Germany. He clapped Italy on the shoulder once before he joined Japan with a roll of fresh bandages.

“My jacket is fairly ruined,” Japan sighed, tugging it gingerly off himself.  “It’s a shame. I doubt I’ll be able to get a new one any time soon.”

“It truly is a shame,” came Germany’s distracted reply.  He was far too busy squinting at the bullet hole in Japan’s flesh, wondering at how quickly it was healing.  By all rights, the bone underneath should be shattered, the arm unusable, yet here he sat, merely a flesh wound and plenty of bruising to show for a bullet.  “Did you take any new territory in the night, by chance?”

“Wouldn’t that have been nice?” Japan huffed.  “No, I wasn’t that lucky. Why?”

“You’re healing very well,” said Germany.  “Even for a nation.”

“Perhaps my people are feeling particularly resilient,” Japan replied, smiling despite the ache of the bandages being rewound about his shoulder.

“Our people are always looking out for us,” Italy yawned, finally awake enough to join the conversation.  He blinked down at the stream for a moment before he bent to refill first his own canteen, and then Japan’s.  “Our ancestors, too, I think. I had another dream about Grandpa Rome last night.”

“Did you?” Japan prodded him, eager for distraction.

Italy hummed.  “I’ve had it a couple of times now.  He was singing about heaven out on the beach, but then we were attacked-- or maybe we were attacked before?  But Austria was there too this time, playing the piano just like he did when I was a kid. Except he was in a tide pool.”  Italy frowned. “He wouldn’t have brought his piano to the beach, I don’t think.”

“Certainly not,” said Germany, chucking the soiled bandages to the back of the cave.  He reached for Japan’s jacket to dispose of it as well, but he hesitated. “Did you want to keep this, Japan?” 

“No,” Japan sighed, grimacing at the bloodied remains of his jacket.  “I suppose I shouldn’t. I guess you could leave it here in this cave, with those rags.”

Germany was about to do just as Japan suggested when Italy stopped his hand.

“Hey, wait a minute,” he said, brightening.  “That jacket is still good for something, you know.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Friendly reminder that we love you all. Thank you so much for your support and for reading this far. This is such a blast, and we're blessed to have such an awesome set of readers.  
> Here's to hoping all of you find money on the ground today!  
> -Jay


	15. Missing Time

It had been too long, Romano decided.  His stupid little brother had gone and left him with all his work.  He’d even had the gall to ask him to water his plants while he was gone.  Romano was tired of checking his brother’s mail for paperwork every day, and tired of trying to remember if he’d locked up after going inside his brother’s house to make sure nobody had broken in, and most of all, he was tired of worrying that something terrible had happened to his little brother during whatever mission Germany had dragged him out on.  

Romano was through with it, all of it.  He wasn’t going to check his brother’s mail today, oh no.  He was going to find out where the hell Veneziano was, and what exactly he thought he was doing way out there when he should have been back home already.  Veneziano was taking his sweet time, no doubt about it. He was off somewhere with that conniving German that he liked so much--but at least Germany was tough.

Maybe too tough, but Romano couldn’t worry about that right now.

No, he had a mission of his own.

The walk to Prussia was quiet, and that’s how Romano liked it.  No surprises; just the cold and a job to do. Naturally, that had to change when he found that Prussia wasn’t home.  Romano cursed his luck and conjured up the forest between Prussia’s house and Germany’s. It was at least scenic, he considered, although he was sure that the forget-me-nots blooming at his feet had no right to be there in December.  Romano let them be. He had more important things to worry about than plants--his brother’s garden aside, of course. Veneziano would kill him if he let those plants die. Or cry about it. Romano wasn’t sure which would be more intolerable.

It was incredible to Romano how small Germany’s house looked when he thought about how many nations he planned on shoving into it by the end of the war.  That wasn’t even suspicion--Veneziano had told him about that map he had seen hanging in Germany’s office, about all the red push pins. Romano thought his little brother was being a little dramatic about it, but of course, he wasn’t going to pass up a chance to remind Veneziano that he should be staying away from anyone power hungry enough to try to conquer the whole world.  And of course, Veneziano had argued with him. It was Germany’s Boss, that was all! He was a bad influence, and Germany wasn’t really a bad guy!

Bullshit.

Germany had known nothing but war.  Romano wasn’t even sure if the guy could live without it.  At least Japan knew when to mind his own business. Whoever Japan conquered, Romano didn’t care, because the thing he liked most about Japan was that he didn’t go dragging his little brother on missions halfway to hell and back. 

And yet, here Romano stood, about to go calling on Prussia because Germany and dumb Veneziano were missing.  He wasn’t about to let any of them get swept away if he could help it. No, his allies were a bunch of tough guys, more or less.  Hell, they were a bunch of tough guys who were winning, world-conquering desires and all. Even if Germany was quite possibly his least favorite person in the world, the other guys weren’t much better.

“Prussia!” he shouted, rapping his fist against Germany’s front door.  “You in there? I need to talk to you!”

A second or two passed before he heard heavy footsteps approach, intermittent coughs heralding Prussia’s arrival.  The door swung open to reveal him looking not at all his best. “Romano?” Prussia cleared his throat. “It’s been a while.” 

“You look like death on a cracker,” Romano huffed.

“Nice to see you, too,” said Prussia through a grim smile.  He leaned back on the door, opening the way. “Come on in. I know why you’re here.”  

“Is that so?” Romano asked him, joining him inside.  It was clear that Prussia had made himself at home there; the house was not unclean, but it was lived-in enough that Prussia’s bird had made a home for itself on the mantel above the fireplace.  Romano doubted Prussia had been home more than once or twice since Germany had left. 

Prussia sank into a chair and gestured for Romano to sit.  “They should have been home by now,” he stated.

“You’re damned right they should have,” Romano agreed, crossing his arms as he settled himself into an armchair.  “So what’s the holdup?”

Prussia puffed up his cheeks and let out a breath.  “I wish I knew,” he admitted. “I called Japan yesterday.”

“What did he say?”

“Nothing.”  Prussia’s shoulders sagged.  “He’s been missing, too, according to Thailand.  Apparently, Japan said he ‘had business to attend’ and asked him to watch his house for a few days.”

“Sounds familiar,” Romano deadpanned.

“I know, right?” 

The two of them sat in silence.

“Any idea where they are?” Romano asked.

“Boss sent them to go claim an island.  It should have been a cut and dry mission,” said Prussia, frowning.

“But they’re not back yet,” said Romano.  “So what the hell happened?”

“The land hasn’t been claimed yet,” said Prussia, shaking his head.  “I checked. There’s no new German or Italian land out there, at least.  If Japan went to find them, he’s either in the middle of the ocean right now, or he traveled to them directly.”

“Well, shit.”

“My thoughts exactly,” Prussia sighed.  “I’d go straight to West myself, but… well.  I’m a little under the weather, if you haven’t noticed.”

Romano shifted uncomfortably.  “So unless someone lets us hitch a ride…”

“We have to keep things moving on this side of the ocean,” said Prussia.  He coughed a few times into his shoulder before speaking again. “That’s the best we can do.  If we can keep morale up over here, and keep things running smoothly, they’ll be better off for it.”

“Damn it,” Romano huffed, glaring out the window at nothing.  “How can I keep things moving over here when I can’t take my mind off what could be happening over there?”

“Look, I’m worried, too--”

“I’m not worried, damn it!” Romano insisted.  “I’m annoyed!”

“Sure, sure,” said Prussia, rolling his eyes.  “If that’s what you’re calling it, fine. But listen.  Those three have each other’s backs. If anything happened to one of them, you can be sure that the other two would be right there to pick up the pieces.”

“Do you have to make it sound like they’re going to get blown up?” Romano complained.

A wheezy laugh escaped Prussia’s lips before he chuckled, “Sorry.  You get what I mean, though.”

“Whatever.”  Romano got to his feet and shoved his hands into his pockets.  “You call me if you hear anything,” he said as he made for the door.

“They’ll be back, you know.”

There was a solemnity in Prussia’s voice that forced Romano to stop.  He swallowed, the floorboards creaking beneath his boots. “Of course they will.”

“Yeah,” Prussia agreed, quiet, hoarse.  “Yeah. West still owes me a beer. He’ll be back real soon, because I gotta get that beer from him.”

“Yeah, okay,” Romano sighed.  “Real soon.” 

A coughing fit was the only answer Romano received, so with that, he stepped outside and closed the door against the painful noise.  The sounds of Prussia’s sickness followed him as he went, echoing hollow through his ears all the way home.

***

“I can’t believe it.”  Japan huffed and puffed as he and his companions made their slow progress up a steep hill, through brambles and the thick press of trees--slow progress hindered further by Japan’s need to rest every few minutes to regain his strength.  Despite Italy carrying his bag, and Germany lending him his arm every so often, Japan still found himself exhausted far sooner than he would have been if his body weren’t using up all its energy for regenerative purposes. “It’s almost nightfall, and there hasn’t been any sign of them.”

“Italy really bought us some time, it seems,” said Germany, heading up the rear of their little train.  Italy beamed back at him from the front, but Germany couldn’t muster a smile past the knowledge that they were eating away at that advantage every time Japan faltered.  “I would have just stuffed that jacket into the back of the cave,” he continued. “I never thought to use it as a decoy.”

“I do listen during training sometimes, Captain,” Italy teased him; breathy, though still chipper as ever.  “I thought about how you were going to throw it away,” he explained. “And then I thought, well, that’s kind of a waste, isn’t it?  Military uniforms are expensive, and hard to make, and Japan’s is so pretty--or at least it was, you know, before he got shot--and I wondered if there was anything we could do to save it, so I thought, hey, we could bleach it!  But then I thought about all those neat little accent touches on the design--really, those would be awful to ruin--”

“Feliciano,” Germany sighed.  “Your point?”

“Oh, yeah,” said Italy.  “Well, it used to be bright white, like a flag of surrender, you know?  It kind of drew a lot of attention.”

“Perfect for leading our pursuers astray,” Japan chimed in, panting with the effort of each step of the climb.  “I definitely agree, but I don’t appreciate you likening my uniform to a symbol of surrender.”

“Sorry,” said Italy, sheepish.  “I just don’t get why I had to be the one to run and plant it so far in the other direction,” he pouted.  “And I really don’t get why you and Germany had to start saying all that scary stuff about the Allies before making me go do it!  That was mean…” 

“You’re our fastest runner,” Germany simply explained.  “No doubt about it. The trouble is, you’re only our fastest runner when you’re scared.”

“You did a wonderful job,” Japan quickly interjected, distracting Italy from his sulking.  “Really, you’ve done a great thing for us. Of course, I have no way of knowing how far the enemy is from us, but I know for certain that they would be right on our tails if it were not for your quick thinking.”  He wiped the sweat from his brow, his steps slowing. “Might I catch my breath once more?”

Germany came to a silent, reluctant halt next to him, and Italy followed suit.  The air was heavy with humidity and the chatter of insects and the deep, looming awareness that their enemies followed them more closely with each passing moment.  Although it had been an unacknowledged tension between them, Japan had felt it every time Germany threw an impatient glance down the way they had come, seen it written in the deepening anxious lines on Italy’s face.  

He had become a burden.

Even here, on this island, with the enemies he had helped create, he had found yet another way to hinder his allies.  It was laughable. He had come to help them, and he was instead the one dragging them further towards defeat than they would have ever been without him.  There wasn’t anything left for Japan to do except draw in a difficult breath and say, “I believe it would be best if I turned back and allowed you both to continue forward without me.”

“What?” Italy exclaimed.  There was more hurt on Italy’s face than Japan had expected to find there, though his voice was wrought with indignation.  “No. Don’t be silly, Japan. We already talked about this, didn’t we? If you’re going to go surrender, we’re going with you.  That’s the way it has to be.”

“I didn’t say I was going to surrender!” Japan huffed.  “I only want to buy you both some time. Carrying on as we are, bound to my weakness, we’ll all be captured within a day.  I am not more important than this mission, than our success in this war. Germany,” he said, turning to his ally, “If you and Italy can succeed in capturing this island, do you know what will come of it?”

Germany shifted on his feet.  “There is to be a naval base constructed here.”

“Exactly,” said Japan.  “This mission is not without purpose.  If this land could help us win this war and help my people prosper, it is my duty to do what I must to secure it.  Please, let me buy you some time, so maybe—“

“No!” Italy insisted.  “I’ll carry you myself if I have to, but we’re not—“

“Japan has a point.” The other two fell quiet as Germany spoke, his words level, reasonable, nearly cold.  “We can run, but not for long. He’s right. The mission takes priority. If we keep waiting on him, our enemies will catch up with us in no time at all, and they will likely find us unprepared.”

Japan let out a short breath and nodded.  “So then, let me go.”

“No,” said Germany, and even Italy looked to him in surprise.  “You’re not going to throw yourself at them. You’ll not be a martyr.  We’re not surrendering, either,” he added with a pointed look at Italy.  “We know they’re coming, so let’s be ready when they find us. We’re outnumbered and overpowered.  There’s no doubting that, so let’s give them something they’re not expecting. We’re not going to run anymore,” Germany stated, hard determination in his eyes.  “It’s time we started fighting.” The words lingered in the air around the three of them. “It’s a long shot, but we may have stolen just enough time to set up an ambush.”

“An ambush,” Japan muttered.  He huffed a dry laugh and said, “Yes, I suppose it makes sense to start fighting dirty.”

Italy took a slow step back down the hill as he turned the idea over in his mind.  “Alright,” he finally said. “That works, but if it turns out we don’t have enough time, I think we should cut our losses, you know?”

“Surrender is our very last option,” Germany huffed, shaking his head.  “Now, if we don’t get a move on, this conversation will have been meaningless.”  He pushed past Italy and continued their trek up the hill. “Let’s go.”

“Right.”  With renewed determination, Japan followed him with resolve to keep strong until the end.  He would be a burden no longer.

Italy lagged behind for the rest of the grueling uphill march until they crested the hill and found themselves overlooking a sandy, sheltered cove, kissed by the sea.  While Germany and Japan discussed all the ways the location would be advantageous as a battlefield, Italy found himself called by the stars as they began to glitter above the ocean; beautiful and distant, glorious and fading, just as fallen empires shine in the darkness of memory. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To anyone who is celebrating or has celebrated something this week: safe and happy celebrations! To anyone who isn't: safe and happy daily living to you! Thank you all for your patience! -Jay


	16. Love and War

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Double the wait, double the chapter. Hope y'all don't mind.

Setting up the ambush had been far easier, even in the darkness, even through the driving apprehension of their foes, than the waiting.  It was cold, where they crouched. Italy longed to go sit by the campfire they had set in the center of the cove, yearned for nothing more than a nap in his bedroll, warmed by that flame--but instead, he was forced to wait, shivering and anxious, behind an uncaring rock, untouched by even the fire’s light.

It wouldn’t be nearly so bad, he thought, if Germany would just let them talk.  His legs were sore. He was hungry. He wanted to fall asleep, too, but Germany wouldn’t let him nap, either.  Talking would give away their location, Germany had insisted, though Italy was of a firm mind that talking would at least distract him from his mounting pile of discomforts.  Germany however, with his stern determination, and the almost angry set of his jaw, kept Italy quiet. Japan didn’t look much for conversation, either, hunched as he was, sickly in the moonlight.  Italy wondered why he had refused his jacket when he had offered it to him. He had to have been cold. Italy certainly was. 

Perhaps the worst part of it all was having to stare at their campfire from afar, seeing their bedrolls stuffed and looking fluffy as ever, and being unable to even go near them.  It was agony. Germany had warned him that the Allies would do terrible things to them if they were captured, but Italy was sure that no torture of theirs could compare to this.

There didn’t seem to be any point to it, after all.

There were only three of them, one of them wounded, two guns between them, with nothing to their benefit except the advantage of surprise.  Even if they won, the island hardly seemed worth all the trouble they had gone through to get it. Germany and Japan seemed to believe otherwise.  Italy didn’t understand it. He had never understood how any amount of land or resources could be worth bloodshed. There were times when it was necessary to defend one’s people from attackers, and, in the old days, to find land on which to grow food.  This, though— it was a different sort of conquest, hollow, self-aggrandizing. Germany’s people had been suffering, Italy’s, too, but how much greater was their suffering when war was added to it all? Would conquest ease their pain? Through the centuries, Italy had known certain nations who had so readily lost themselves in the depths of hollow victories.  He had loved them dearly, known them intimately, and although they were long gone, Italy feared that he may very well still know such nations.

The fire was dying, now.  Italy could only trust that his friends were still awake, still watching, just as he was watching, overlooked by the unblinking stars in the heavens.  It was nearly peaceful.

Shadows shifted along the cove’s borders, six forms encroaching on the three bedrolls in the center, weapons poised, their stalking masked by the tide’s shallow breathing.  There wasn’t any doubt left in Italy’s mind that Germany and Japan were just as tense as he was. He could feel them coiled in the rocks beside him, gathering their grit for the moment when Germany would give the signal to strike.  

Their enemies stalked low across the sand, encircling the false encampment, and when each one was in position, they halted.  Italy’s breath caught in his throat when three of them raised their guns and aimed them at the places where Italy and his friends were meant to be sleeping.  The silence and the stillness of the air suffocated him until both were shattered by thunderous gunfire. It lasted only a second—for that second, bursts of light and deafening sound sent plumes of sand and smoke into the sky—and then the stillness settled back into place, somehow more subdued than before.  Germany motioned for Italy to take aim, and though his hands were trembling violently, he did. The Allies crept closer, then, to the bedrolls, guns still drawn, hands extended to flip back the covers, eyes searching for bodies, for blood. 

They found nothing but leaves and sand.

Russia took two bullets to his back before the Allies even realized what was happening.  At England’s frantic command, all six of them leapt for cover, but not before France was shot in the leg.  Another three rounds missed their marks before Germany was forced to reload.

Italy hadn’t fired a single shot. 

The whole cove roared with gunfire from both sides, but Italy, trembling and frozen, only hid, cradling his weapon in his hands.  It was a terrible thing, he thought, knowing that if only he would take aim, he wouldn’t miss.

Slowly, among the noise, above the sound of his heart pounding through his ears, he heard Germany calling for him.  “Italy,” he shouted, “do something!”

“Use your gun or give it to me,” Japan demanded from where he crouched behind a nearby boulder.  His sword glinted in light of the gunfire and the stars, a stark contrast to the frail image of a man he had made before.  “Don’t just sit there, Italy! You have to fight!” 

Italy groaned in dismay.  He wanted nothing more than to squat behind the safety of his uncaring rock until every bullet had been fired and gone cold and gotten lost in one place or another, even if he knew that he and his companions were likely to lose, themselves.  He didn’t want to lose the war, exactly, but he cared nothing for winning it, either. Mainly, deeply, he wanted it to be over. He wanted it to be over so that he and all his friends and everyone else could go on pretending to be people, instead of firing guns at each other and shouting.  

There was considerably more of that—the firing guns and the shouting—happening now than Italy preferred.  In fact, Germany and Japan were still shouting at him about firing his gun. He didn’t much care for that.  The whole world shook as he peeked over his boulder, scouting for a target.

A target.  That’s how you described people who you didn’t want to think of as people, mainly before you shot at them, Italy had discovered.  Russia was certainly an easy target, curled up on the sand in a pool of his own blood, too weak to hold up his own gun. China had noticed this, too, and was in the process of making himself an easy target, darting into open fire in an effort to drag Russia to shelter.  Italy decided that he wasn’t going to help China be a target, and so went on searching for someone else to fire his gun at. 

A bullet whizzed over his head, and he yelped and ducked away, and soon forced himself to peek around the side of his boulder to see if he could figure who had decided he was to be a target.  It wasn’t England. England was busy shouting orders and trying to shoot--and consequently, not be shot by-- Germany. Italy found this horrifying, and so glanced a short distance away to find that France was presently occupied with the bloody aftermath of having become a target.  He sounded like he was in a great deal of pain. Russia did, too. China, despite not having been shot, also sounded quite distressed.

It was all very horrifying, Italy decided.

Japan was shouting still, except that his shouting had become much more urgent in the last second or two.  Italy whirled to find Japan pointing his sword at America, who had found his way behind their shadowy line of boulders and was pointing his gun at Japan.  There was something like betrayal written on both their faces, but it was hard to read past the angry tug of their mouths as they flung angrier words at each other.  Italy didn’t hear any of it; in fact, all he heard was an earsplitting bang, and then ringing in his ears as America crumpled noiselessly to the sand at Japan’s feet. 

Italy wondered who had shot him until his hands began to tingle, jolted from the gun when it had recoiled from what he had done.  His ears rang ceaselessly. The noise might have been distracting, except Italy was having a difficult time pulling his eyes off of America, who wasn’t moving or blinking or breathing anymore, despite the fact that his face was still taut with anger.  There was a hole in his skull.

The gun weighed heavier than ever in Italy’s palms, despite the load being one bullet lighter, and it slid out onto the sand with a dull thump.

A thump, and the gun was snatched away.

Italy’s senses returned to him in a rush.  The moonlit cove still roared with gunfire and shouting, a tidal scream above the ringing that slipped from Italy’s ears with every beat of his frantic heart.  Japan had his gun. He wasn’t shouting anymore, but he was certainly shooting. Italy glanced over to find Germany, but Germany wasn’t where he’d left him. No, he was sneaking.

Germany seldom sneaked. That was one thing Italy knew very well about Germany.  He preferred to be upfront, when possible, but when absolutely necessary, he resorted to sneaking, like now.  Through the darkness, he crept up behind France, who had wrapped his leg in bandages and was working with England to give Japan another bullet wound or two.  Newly-armed Japan made the perfect distraction--Japan had been very good at making distractions lately, Italy considered-- while Germany slid behind rocks and bushes in invisible, silent pursuit of his target, but he hadn’t aimed yet.  Clearly not in the right position, Italy thought.

This was certainly not the only thought skittering around in Italy’s head.  No, there were too many bullets darting through the air around Italy’s head to make for good concentration.  Italy’s thoughts, in fact, were very muddled, and all very hurried, and a great deal panicked. He never could hold on to any thought long in the middle of a battle.  One thought, however, became incredibly clear to him that instant: in spite of Germany’s best efforts at remaining undetected, China had noticed him, and he was pointing a gun at the back of his head.

The thought that Germany was in danger--that he had become a target, of all things--had taken up so much space in Italy’s head that he simply didn’t have room left for important thoughts like, “If I stand up right now, I will most definitely get shot,” or “Canada is behind that rock over there, rather upset that I killed his brother,” or even, “Dying sucks.” 

Italy’s head was filled with a thought that his heart had put there, and so it was not with his head that he leapt up from behind the safety of his boulder to shout, “Germany!  Behind you!” His heart, then, took the bullet for him.

Germany didn’t see him fall, but he did roll to the side in time to avoid getting shot by China.  He fell hard on his shoulder and was able to fire a pair of shots into the night as China ducked. He might have been able to take on China alone, but Canada, England, and France had taken notice of the scuffle and were quick to lend their aid.  The result was that Germany gained three new holes and fell very still. 

Japan found himself with two dead companions and five guns trained on him, and it was then that he saw Italy’s earlier suggestion in a more appealing light.  Very gingerly, he threw his gun out on the sand in front of the boulder behind which he was taking shelter, and then he stopped, and took a breath. “I surrender,” he called, throwing out the last of his dignity as he put up his hands and, as slowly as he could manage, got to his feet.  He half suspected he would be shot in spite of his best efforts, but the gunfire he suspected never came.

“About bloody time,” said England instead.  “Don’t move.”

“And where’s your sword?” China called, still pointing his gun at Japan.  “Don’t tell me you don’t have it.”

“It’s on my hip.”

“Well then put it on the ground.”

“I believe I was told not to move.”

“Do it and then go back to not moving, then,” China huffed.  “But you’re a fool if you think we’re letting you keep that.”

Doing his best to avoid getting shot any more than he already had been, Japan complied, and in a matter of moments, he was completely weaponless and surrounded by his enemies.  He grunted as China wrenched his hands behind his back, pulling fresh pain out of his wounded shoulder, and let out a long, resigned breath when he felt rope being wound too tightly around his wrists.

“It would have saved us a whole lot of trouble if you’d surrendered from the start!”  Much to Japan’s surprise, Canada had been the first to lay into him. “Look at all this!” Canada bit out, gesturing to America’s body in particular.  “Was it worth it? Because if I were in your shoes, I wouldn’t have suspected to win this fight. What, did you just want to drag as many people down with you as you could before you chickened out at the last minute?  Two of yours are dead, one of ours, and Russia’s bleeding out way too quickly not to join them pretty damned soon, so you’d better be glad we don’t just--”

“Canada, that’s enough.”  China wedged himself into the rapidly-decreasing space between Canada and Japan, forcing Canada away.  “He surrendered. What’s done is done.”

“No, let him finish,” said Japan evenly.  “Why don’t you just what?”

Canada glared at him over China’s shoulder before he tore himself away to go collect his brother.  France, limping as he hung from England’s shoulder, stared after him in pity. He muttered something to England, and with some effort, England brought France to rest near the place where America had fallen.  Then, England trotted away to collect the dead and dying. 

“Sit.” China pressed firmly on Japan’s good shoulder, and Japan went down without complaint, folding his legs under him as comfortably as he could manage in the rocky sand.  “France, watch him for a second.” When he had gained France’s attention, he collected Japan’s weapons and stowed them away amongst his own things. He nodded his thanks to France and said, “You’ve given me quite the collection.”  When Japan only stared at him, he continued, “First your jacket, and now your sword. Maybe soon I’ll have your islands.”

“I hope you’re under no illusion that what happened here is in any way representative of what will happen for the rest of the war,” said Japan. 

The world went dark as China tied a rag around Japan’s eyes.  “And I hope you intend to put up a better fight,” he said. Japan could hear the smugness in his voice.  “I thought I’d taught you better than to surrender, but then, you haven’t ever really listened to me, have you?”

“I can’t contest the island if I’m dead,” came Japan’s simple reply.

“So you haven’t surrendered,” said China, pulling Japan to his feet, and then tugging him forward.  “Walk.”

Japan silently obeyed him, although he found it hard to fight his instincts that told him not to tread where he could not see.  He didn’t ask where he was being taken. He already knew. When the solemn murmurings of the battleground faded behind him, he said, “You kept my jacket.”

“It was spoiling the scenery.”

Japan let the crackle of twigs beneath his feet bury the unpleasant emotion he felt trying to take hold in his gut before he spoke again.  “So you plan on claiming this island?”

“No,” China grunted, “America.  Of all the people to go and get killed, it had to be the one we needed to claim this damned island so we can all go home.”

Japan suppressed a wince as he scraped past a thorny thicket.  “You’ll have to kill me before I concede to let him have it, you know.”

“Nobody’s ruling that out,” China informed him.

“You never were above executing your prisoners of war.”

“Always so dramatic,” China tutted, guiding him over a fallen log.  “It’s not as if you won’t be back.”

Japan rolled his eyes behind his blindfold.  “If I’m dramatic, I learned it from you.”

“And that’s about the only thing,” said China.  “You rejected my language, refused my culture—“ He laughed a dry laugh and added, “I wonder if you even kept the name I gave you.”

“What does it matter?” Japan hadn’t expected an answer, but through the quiet that followed, he immensely regretted that he couldn’t see China’s face.  It took him fifteen uncertain steps to add, “I only kept it because I chose it for myself.”

China snickered, then.  “Of course you choose to remember that half of the truth.”

“It’s as true as your half,” Japan remarked.

“I suppose you’re right,” said China, melancholy seeping into his voice.  “Just like everything else I ever gave you, the name was no different. You took what I gave you, cannibalized it for the parts you liked, and then turned it into something I never intended.”

“My name is my business,” said Japan, “and I believe you’ll agree with me when I say that ‘Wang Kiku’ sounds ridiculous to the both of us.”

China was quiet, and then murmured, “You’re right again, although it seemed much less ridiculous back then.”

The two of them said no more, with the exception of China’s brief instructions to step around the roots, mind the branch overhead, be careful, watch your step.  Finally, Japan felt the ground level out beneath his feet, and then, at last, he heard the creak of a door as it opened and shut behind him. China lead him to sit in a stiff, wooden chair and just as quickly got to work tying him to it. 

He blinked hard when the blindfold was abruptly pulled away.  The only light in the room came from a tiny lantern hung by the door.  Japan thought it might be a little too small before he noticed that there wasn’t much for it to illuminate to begin with.  The shack contained little more than the chair upon which Japan sat and a couple of empty supply crates—and of course, China, who had his arms folded in concentration while he re-examined the knots he had just tied.  Apparently satisfied, he left without a word, and took his lamp with him.

A click rang through the darkness as the door was locked from the outside.  Japan sighed, and then he wriggled in his ropes, and then he sighed again. He was doubtlessly stuck to the chair.  China, of course, knew better than to allow him any hope of escape, so he sat there in the dark and waited.

Japan was beginning to wonder if he had been abandoned for the night by the time he heard the door being unlocked.  England pushed inside, hauling Germany’s limp body with him just far enough so that he could lay him out on the floor.  Ropes bound Germany’s wrists and ankles, Japan noted without a hint of surprise, but it comforted him to see that Germany’s wounds had been wrapped.

Canada soon shuffled inside with Italy, who had been similarly bound and treated.  He carefully laid him out next to Germany, and then, much to Japan’s confusion, he tucked a fistful of gardenias into Italy’s hands, and then did the same for Germany.

“France’s idea,” Canada tersely explained.  “I’m doing this because I respect him, not any of you.”

“Duly noted,” was Japan’s dry response.

“Right, well,” said England, clapping the dust off his hands.  “It’s time for bed.” He held the door open for Canada to leave ahead of him, and before he followed, left Japan with a cheery, “Sweet dreams!”

Japan closed his eyes, not because he thought he would get any sleep that night, but because he knew that if he didn’t, he would spend far longer than he should trying to make out the faces of his dead friends in the darkness.  The flowers’ scent hit his nose. He tried to let it carry his mind off to a more pleasant place, somewhere peaceful, to the gardens of his home. He wished it could whisk him away to those places in more than just thought, and he wished he could fall asleep without thinking about what stench the flowers’ perfume might soon cover.  Above everything, though, he wished his were the only body in that room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Flower symbolism: Gardenias are often used as a symbol of purity, or family.


	17. Kiku

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey look at that! I was up in the mountains with shoddy wifi and we still managed to get a chapter updated! Props to Jay, she does most of the work around here, and kudos to cellphone data so I can still claim that I somewhat helped. ~Kai
> 
> To the wonderful soul that bought me a coffee, this one's for you. -Jay

There wasn’t a doubt in Japan’s mind that they wanted to rough him up more than they wanted information.  The first day, Canada and England had taken turns grilling him for the most trivial things--what types of weapons he had, what kind of attacks were planned, who was next to be invaded--and of course, Japan never answered, except to tell them where they could stick their questions.  He figured they had nothing better to do while they waited for America to wake up, because they were incredibly half-hearted in their efforts, and spent half the time chatting with each other. Unsurprising, Japan considered, given that he wasn’t being much for conversation. 

The second day, France had limped in with England to interrogate him in Canada’s stead.  Japan greatly preferred this arrangement. Even though Canada had lost satisfaction in beating up Japan early on, France seemed even less inclined towards throwing any punches, and instead occupied himself picking fights with England, who didn’t like to get his hands dirty, anyway.  France and England spent so much time arguing, in fact, that Japan had been able to keep quiet long enough to collect some information of his own. Russia had started breathing again, and America’s pulse had returned to him. It was only a matter of time before they would be back amongst the living.  

Of his own friends’ conditions, he knew nothing, except that they still lay dormant on the floor.  He would check if he weren’t tied to a chair. Asking about them would be a sure way to have his enemies laugh in his face, considering how many of their questions he had refused to answer.  He knew he shouldn’t ask. They would be back, soon, without a doubt, just as lively and troublesome as they had always been. They were only dead. 

Beyond all logic, he was still worried about them.

“The useful thing would be to shoot them all once more,” England was saying--he and France had stopped asking Japan questions at least an hour prior.  He almost felt forgotten, although he didn’t mind it. “Really make sure they’re dead so that America can claim this island, like we decided, and we can all go home.”

“Until the boy wakes up, that’s foolishness,” France dismissed him.  “Not to mention cruel. Be patient,” he insisted, lighting up another cigarette.  That was its own special kind of torture, Japan had decided: to have to sit in that tiny room, constantly assaulted by the stench of sweat and death and rotting flowers and cigarette smoke.  England produced yet another cigar, and France politely lit it for him before he shook out his match and continued. “The bullet isn’t even in him anymore. Give it a day, maybe two, tops. Just relax and pretend not to feel yourself getting bombed while we wait.”

England snickered around his cigar, and then pulled it from his lips between his pointer and middle fingers.  “In all seriousness, though,” said England, smoke billowing out his nostrils. “You do have a point. This island is ours for the next little while.  I guess we could try to enjoy ourselves. Those three will concede it or be--oh, heavens. How rude of me.” For the first time in a long while, England turned in his chair and looked to Japan.  “Cigar?”

“No, thank you.”

“If you’re sure.”

“I don’t smoke.”

“Don’t start,” England advised him, taking another puff as he settled himself towards France again.  “Right. What was I saying?”

“The concession of the island,” France supplied.  “I think you were about to say--”

“--they’ll concede or be killed, yes, that was it.”  He sighed, long and heavy, submerging himself in a cloud.  “It’s almost Christmas.”

France hummed.  “America should be awake before then.”  He flicked his ashes onto the floor. “Is that not what’s bothering you?”

“No.”  England’s gaze wandered over France’s shoulder, towards the bodies on the floor. “No, it--maybe.  I don’t bloody know.” He shook his head and took a drag of his cigar.

France watched him do this, and then he propped his arm up over the back of his chair to look at Italy and Germany.  They still slept as soundly as ever, bloodied bandages and all. “No, I understand,” said France, his cigarette dangling at his fingertips.  “I think I understand what you mean.”

Japan wondered about that in the silence that followed.  He didn’t care much for Christmas, himself, and although he thought the season looked kind of fun, he couldn’t begin to imagine what such a holiday had to do with his friends, least of all as they were in the moment.  He fancied he could see them breathing through the thin haze, but it may very well have been his imagination; nothing more than a lonely hope. Still, solemn and pale, Italy and Germany were nothing that resembled holiday cheer.  Perhaps that was the issue that his enemies saw. It seemed to Japan like they had more important matters to be concerned about than festivities. Holidays made for excellent diversions, and they had very little place in a war.

Very little, Japan supposed, but perhaps not none at all.  Even a nation needed some respite from all the stress of conflict now and again.  He wished he had more to distract him than his thoughts, though. Japan’s whole body hurt.  His legs and arms were stiff and painful, and his face felt swollen from the previous day’s questioning, and he desperately wanted to stretch.  A holiday, he thought, would be much appreciated. 

The door swung open, sending the smoke and the melancholy that had sunken into the room out and up, into the waning light of day.  China made a face and coughed the second he stepped over the threshold. “It smells like an ashtray in here. Did you—“ He faltered, his gaze having caught on the bruises smeared across Japan’s face, and for an imperceptible moment, China and Japan met eyes.  China regained himself so quickly, however, that Japan later wondered if he’d imagined the whole thing. “Did you learn anything?”

“Yes,” said France, “I’m nearly out of cigarettes.”

China scowled.  “Anything useful?”

“He has plenty of matches,” England supplied.

“Productive as always, I see,” said China.

France dropped his cigarette to the dirt floor and crushed it beneath the heel of his boot.  “Maybe you can get him to talk.”

“Must I do everything?” China lamented.  “Dinner’s nearly ready, if you two are done with your smoke break.  Go check on Canada. It’s time he took a break from corpse-duty,” he said.  “Oh, and then go take the heat off the stew.”

“What are you going to do?” England asked, getting to his feet.  France followed suit, wincing subtly.

“Don’t mind me,” said China.  “I’m only going to have a chat with our prisoner.”

“Good luck with that,” said France, limping out the door right behind England.  England pulled the door shut, blocking out the light and leaving China and Japan in the gloom once more. 

Japan kept his eyes warily fixed on China, who walked towards him with as much serenity as he ever had.  It was with this same calm that he flicked out his pocket knife and knelt in front of Japan. He smiled. “You want to be out of that chair.”

“I’m not going to tell you a single thing,” Japan bit out, glaring between China and the knife he held delicately in his fingers. 

“I didn’t ask you to.”  China tapped Japan’s knee with the knife’s handle.  “You want to be out of that chair,” he repeated. “I’m going to cut you loose for a few minutes.  All you have to do is promise me you won’t give me a reason to regret my decision.”

Very slowly, Japan nodded, and China began sawing at his bonds.  “Why are you doing this?” he asked. 

“If I might be frank,” said China, “You’re overdue for a piss break.”  With a few short swipes, he sent the last of the ropes to the floor. “You have five minutes.”

Japan couldn’t suppress a groan as he pushed himself up, out of the chair.  His limbs ached so thoroughly that he wasn’t even sure if stretching them was relieving the pain or adding to it.  Either way, he was overjoyed to be rid of that infernal chair for even a few minutes. “I hope you’re not going to suggest I go in a bucket or something.”

“What do you take me for?” China huffed, opening the door.  “Come on. There’s an outhouse.”

The sun hurt Japan’s eyes, but the breeze did wonders cleansing his spirit of the stench of death and cigarettes.  China never strayed more than an arm’s length from him--as if Japan would ever run off and abandon his allies in captivity.  It would have been fairly simple to do. Nobody watched them but the trees and the sun and a couple of empty shacks, and Japan was sure he could take China in a fight.  Still, he let China escort him to the outhouse and back without a struggle.

He took one last, deep breath of fresh air before he let China corale him back into the musty shed that made his prison.  That rigid chair still waited for him. He had never before loathed a piece of furniture so much as he despised that chair, and yet it was not from a place of hatred when he stopped short of it.  His gaze wandered to Italy and Germany, who still slept on the floor, and then up to China, pleading. “May I have a moment?”

China bit his lip while he thought about it.  “Only until I dig out more rope,” he decided.

Japan thanked him and wasted no time crouching over his friends.  Just as he had hoped, they had both started breathing again. He pressed his fingers to Germany’s neck and found a pulse fluttering irregularly beneath the skin, so weak that Japan had to check twice before he was convinced it was there.  

Italy’s pulse was much livelier.  In fact, there was color in his cheeks, and his breathing was slow and even.  Japan glanced over his shoulder. China was occupied cursing at a knot, so Japan reached down and patted Italy’s cheek a couple of times.  He checked once more that China wasn’t watching before he gave Italy another shake. Italy didn’t stir. Japan was about to return to his chair when Italy’s eyelids fluttered open.

Before Italy could push a word through his dry lips, Japan pressed his hand over his mouth and motioned for him to keep quiet.  Italy frowned at him with his eyes. Japan gestured towards China--blessedly still busy untangling the coil of rope--and waited for Italy to nod before he removed his hand from his mouth.  He threw one last glance in China’s direction before he mouthed, “Close your eyes,” and got to his feet.

“Having trouble?” he called across the room.

China managed to unravel the knot that very second.  “Not at all,” he said. “Have a seat.”

Japan stretched one last time before he did as he was instructed and reclaimed his uncomfortable throne.  In no time at all, he was tied there once more, and China left him in favor of joining his allies for supper.  Finally, when he was sure China was well away, he said, “Italy?” 

“Can I open my eyes now?” 

“Please do,” Japan sighed, relieved.  “How do you feel?”

Italy wiggled into a sitting position and assessed his surroundings, dazed and drowsy.  He tugged at his bonds, sighed, and finally, he spoke. “I really hate dying.”

Japan nodded in sympathy.  “I know,” he said, and he meant it.  It often took Japan days or weeks to feel like himself again on occasions when he let his life slip away from him.  “Are you going to be alright?” 

“I’ll answer that when I believe happiness exists again,” he said, and then he sniffed.  “What’s this flower for?” The gardenia stuck between his fingers, wilted and brittle.

“France’s idea,” Japan told him, Canada’s bitterness echoing in his memory.  “I think the idea of you lying there like that bothered him.”

Italy frowned more deeply still.  “Germany’s dead.”

“It’s been two days, more or less,” said Japan.  “He’ll wake up, soon.”

Italy closed his eyes and lolled his head to rest against a crate.  “It’s probably better if he just stays asleep.”

Japan took a deep breath.  “Feliciano.”

A dull hum was his response.

“I need you to play dead until tonight,” said Japan, forcing his worry down.  “Can you do that? Someone should be in to check on us just one more time before they go to bed.  If they check on you, keep your eyes closed and hold your breath so they don’t restrain you further.  After that, you can untie us, and we’ll carry Germany out of here.”

There was a very long pause.  “And then what?”

“What?”

“What comes after that?” said Italy, his eyes sliding halfway open.  “Are we going to run and hide again? Kill them in their sleep? What?”

Deep uneasiness settled in Japan’s gut, and he found himself reluctant to answer.  “I had planned on stealing some supplies and taking Germany somewhere to recuperate for a day or two.”

Italy said nothing, only stared past Japan, somewhere through the window. 

Japan watched him do this for a while before he said, “You saved my life.”  This seemed to rouse Italy from his stupor well enough to get his attention, at least, so Japan continued.  “If you hadn’t defended me when you did, America would have killed me. And back when I got shot, you didn’t leave me.  You probably wouldn’t be here, if you had, so I think… Feliciano, thank you.”

A dim smile graced Italy’s face.  “Hey, what are friends for? You’re welcome, Japan.”

“Please,” said Japan, shaking his head.  “Call me Kiku.”

Now Italy’s smile truly lit up his face.  “Hey, that’s a pretty name, Kiku!”

Japan flushed.  “Thank you, but you should lie down before someone comes back.”

“Oh, right.”  Italy resumed his position on the floor.  “Thanks, Kiku.”

“What for?”

“For making me smile.”

Japan huffed a laugh.  “You’re welcome, Feliciano.”

Italy smiled and closed his eyes and grasped the flower in his hand, as fresh and as fragrant as it was the hour it was cut.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did you know? "Kiku" means chrysanthemum, which symbolizes joy. We think that's sweet, but not as sweet as our readers.


	18. Hollow Thoughts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Blah Blah, excuses, blah blah, apologies, blah blah, throwing Kai under the bus because I procrastinate too much. This chapter took a while. Kai is suffering for the sake of art. Potentially at band camp. I fell tragically ill. It’s been a weird couple of weeks, folks, but we’re not dead. Germany might be. Anyway, enjoy the chapter. Love, Jay. (And Kai. She loves you too.)

Pretending to be dead was actually kind of pleasant, when Italy thought about it.  It was like flirting with sleep and blindly keeping tabs on the whole room at the same time.  It made for a special kind of daydreaming. He could imagine Japan shifting around to a less uncomfortable position every time he heard the chair creak.  He could imagine Germany sleeping next to him, having his own blank dreams. Italy might have even been able to imagine that they were all relaxing in Germany’s nice house if the whole room didn’t smell smoky and stale, and if the floor didn’t feel so gritty beneath him.

Yes, pretending to be dead might have felt completely pleasant had Italy not felt so overwhelmingly empty.  He wondered if he would still feel this way if he and his friends had overthrown their opponents, if his heart would ring hollow if he were at home, instead of bound by wrist and ankle, a prisoner.  He supposed not. Then again, he couldn’t imagine feeling any other way, really. 

While not entirely awful, pretending to be dead was not at all the kind of pastime Italy believed he would have taken up recreationally, although it did, at the moment, match his mood.  So, to pass the time, Italy mostly focused on projecting his numbness of soul into his limbs, willing them to be still and dead. When he had done that, and felt wholly miserable, body and soul, he began to think more deeply about his situation.

Even at his lowest moments, Italy was not a pessimist.  For this reason, he forced himself to think first about the most pleasant thing he could manage: Japan had given him his name.  That, Italy felt, should have induced something more substantial than the suggestion of the ghost of Italy’s sense of joy. It had not.  At least, Italy bleakly figured, the joy, true as it might have been in that moment, had been by now completely devoured by the gaping pit in his soul that was invariably produced by having died.  

It was at this point that Italy ran out of pleasant thoughts.

Normally, when confronted by melancholy, Italy would have skipped over to one of his companions, put on his best smile, and attempted to glean a happy thought from them.  Sometimes, that even worked. Now, though, Italy was burdened with the task of seeming dead, and could not, therefore, start to chat. Japan had been very clear about this the first three times Italy had attempted to strike up a conversation.

“You have to be silent,” Japan had whispered to him.  “They could be back at any moment. You mustn’t compromise your position.”

Italy understood.  He truly did. Japan wanted to escape.  He wanted to be out of that ugly chair, probably scratch his nose, maybe even have a bite to eat.  Italy really did understand all that. The desire for temporary relief wasn’t hard to grasp. What escaped Italy, though, was what Japan really valued in all the wretched things that had to come after he scratched his nose and got all of them out of there.

Germany would have to wake up, for one.  Italy was sure he’d be in a terrible mood, and even more sure that he’d go along with whatever hail-mary plan Japan had devised.  After that, they’d have to go back to roughing it. Camping had been admittedly fun for a while, until people had started dying, at which point Italy had stopped enjoying himself entirely, and it had been a sunset or two since Italy had looked forward to another day on this island, anyway.  He just didn’t want to be there any longer, especially when he thought about how futile any last ditch efforts to claim the island would inevitably be. The Allies were well-established, Italy considered, staring at the backs of his eyelids. He and his friends had nothing but a reckless sense of duty and dumb, simple greed with which to propel themselves towards victory.  

Italy could understand Japan’s desire for relief, and his loyalty to Germany’s mission, but he didn’t understand at all what such an intelligent nation was doing holding on to such an impossible, dangerous goal as the continued pursuit of this land.  He supposed that Japan had been beaten around quite a lot, and was probably dehydrated, and therefore a little delirious. That was the reason his remaining optimism provided him, at least. The rest of him told him that Japan—and not only Japan, he thought, but Germany and England and everyone else—had too much pride to let their hunger for power and land and conquest go unfulfilled.  Even after this island faded into memory, the war would remain. It didn’t make a difference where they were. They would still be fighting. 

And so Italy came to the realization that he was lying dejected on a hard, uncomfortable floor, imprisoned, doing his best impression of a dead man, and he couldn’t think of a single good reason why. 

The flower he held had grown as limp as his spirit.  Italy was very tired of fighting—and he was, he reminded himself, still fighting, even as he lay there, obeying Japan’s wishes.  The goal was to sneak away and shoot for victory, after all, not only in this battle, but the war itself. He wondered how long it would take.  He wondered, more cynically, by how much it would extend this endless, cursed war to keep fighting for this one scrap of land. Italy wasn’t even particularly sure if he still wanted to win it.  Conquest, after all, was a drug from which he had long ago chosen to abstain. Italy knew his friends had no such qualms.

His eyes still closed, Italy reimagined the map he had discovered on Germany’s wall, riddled with red pins, pride and avarice.  He wondered—if Germany laid claim to all those nations, how long would it take for a disagreement to pop up between him and Japan about who truly had what rights to what lands?  Allies would turn to enemies, Italy feared. The war would never truly stop. 

Germany and Japan could survive conquering the world.  Ludwig and Kiku could not.

Since the beginning of the war, Italy had longed for the end of it to come as soon as possible.  Throwing himself at Greece and Egypt, wasting Germany’s time—none of that had convinced Germany to turn back or surrender.  Still, Italy couldn’t give up. He had a new friend to keep from war’s clutches, after all, not just Germany.

The shorter path to the end of the war seemed to lie in this prison shack, not in the trees.  The Allies were sure to hold them prisoner for as long as possible. Certainly, imprisonment after death would be enough to dissuade Germany from his goals.  If Germany quit, so would Japan, and then they could all go back to being friends and treating each other like people again.

It was with this in mind that, upon hearing the door creak open and enemy footsteps approach, that Italy betrayed Japan’s wishes in the gentlest way he could: he sneezed.

“Oh, you’re awake!” Italy slid his eyes open to find France peering over him, grinning.  “It’s about time! I was beginning to get worried, you know. Here, sit up—“ Italy had never seen Japan’s stare quite so blank, and it twisted his stomach into knots.  He looked to France’s pleasant countenance instead. “I’ll get you some water,” France told him, patting him on the shoulder, “but I’m afraid I can’t let you be much more comfortable than that.”  He paused. “How are you feeling?”

“I’m still trying to figure out what happened,” said Italy, forcing out a chuckle.  Japan’s empty gaze was still there, drawing his attention into it like a sinkhole. He ignored it.  “Who shot me?”

“That’s a good a place as any to start, isn’t it?  It was Canada,” said France, as if the fact still surprised him.  “And you shot America,” he added with just as much disbelief. “Germany shot me, and Russia, too, but we returned the favor, and—well, I suppose Japan got shot, but that happened quite a while ago, didn’t it?  That’s a good enough summary for now, I think.”

The pit in Italy’s heart yawned.  “Oh,” he said, shuffling in his ropes.

“Right,” France agreed, his lips falling into a frown.  “Well,” he continued after a pause. “Germany should be waking up soon, and we can’t have either of you bound so loosely as this if you’re alive and well.”  Italy wanted to say that he didn’t feel very alive, and he certainly wasn’t well, but he couldn’t find the motivation for it. “I trust you won’t put up a fuss while I do a little rearranging here?  It wouldn’t do either of us much good,” France fretted.

Italy kept very still while France worked Italy’s hands behind his back and coiled yet more rope around his middle.  He still couldn’t look at Japan. “Hey, is there any good news you could tell me about?”

“Good for us or good for you?” France joked, although the humor was lost on his audience.  He contemplated Italy’s question as he tugged on a knot. “Tomorrow is Christmas Eve. That’s nice news.”  Satisfied with his work on Italy, he moved to begin work on Germany’s bonds. 

Italy stared at his boots.  “I won’t be home for Christmas, will I?” 

France’s hands faltered.  “No,” he said, clearing his throat.  “I don’t suppose you will.”

The room went dreadfully quiet.  “Hey, that’s okay,” said Italy, feebly holding up a smile.  “Big brother’s always telling me I get too excited about it, anyway.  He’ll enjoy the peace, for once.”

France swallowed hard.  “Maybe so,” he agreed. Despite Germany’s dead weight hindering his progress, France had him bound within a few short minutes, and as soon as he had given Italy and Japan a few gulps from his canteen, he all but fled through the door.

Italy stared at the flowers that lay shriveled on the floor, brown and wilted in the moonlight that had been tossed in through the window.  He stared at them much longer than they interested him, because to not stare at the flowers meant to meet Japan’s disappointed face.

“You sneezed.”  The words came out level, but still caused Italy to marvel at how much emotion could be conveyed in two syllables.  There wasn’t any anger there, although Italy detected more than hint of irritation. Above and beyond all that, Japan’s voice was very, very weary.

“Uh,” said Italy, daring a glance upwards.  Japan’s eyes were much the same as his voice.  “Sorry,” he said. Japan closed his eyes and sighed.  The act pressured Italy to continue, rather sheepishly, “The pollen got to me.”

“How very unfortunate.”  Japan inhaled deeply, and then he pushed all the air out of himself again, willing his frustration out with it.  It didn’t entirely work. “By any chance, did he forget to tighten your ropes? Can you wriggle yourself free?”

Italy wriggled, and the ropes clung.  “Nope.”

“Of course we aren’t that lucky,” Japan sighed.  “No, that would have been too easy, and ease doesn’t come to those who need it.  What about Germany? Can you scoot over and loosen his knots?”

“I can’t reach,” Italy confessed, although it filled him with a hint of relief that he was well and truly helpless, now.  Things were out of his hands. If his hands were tied, he couldn’t be blamed when things fell apart. His friends didn’t have to know how much to blame he truly would be if they did lose the war.  Even if they did, Italy reminded himself, it was for their own good.

They’d thank him, eventually.

Japan soon spoke again.  “If they beat you,” he said--

And, here, Italy shuddered, and mumbled, “France wouldn’t do that to me.”

Japan frowned at him.  “I don’t know if you noticed what they’ve done to me already, but it’s not far-fetched to think you’ll be next.”  Italy quaked, but Japan paid him no heed. “No matter what they do to you, you can’t give them our secrets. No matter how long they detain us, we cannot help them win this war by giving them information.”

Italy shivered, and he felt tears prick at his eyes. “You’re… they really hurt you.” 

“They didn’t do a very good job of it, if I’m being completely honest.”

“Well they hurt Germany, too!  It isn’t right!” Italy cried, not at all consoled.  “None of this is right! They weren’t even defending themselves, and they hurt you!”

Japan let out a sympathetic sigh.  “Surely you knew this would happen,” he said, searching Italy’s face.  “You’ve seen many wars before this, Italy. You’re a soldier, and a valuable one, at that, just like Germany, just like me. The enemy will do whatever it takes to win.  It doesn’t matter if it’s ‘right’ or not.”

“I know that,” Italy answered him, a pained, pitiful reply.  “I know it, and I hate it.”

Japan closed his eyes, then.  “I’m sorry, Feliciano,” he said.  “I can’t say I wouldn’t do the same, given their circumstances.”

“Why?” Italy asked.  He felt it was the loneliest question he’d ever uttered. 

Italy wasn’t sure if it comforted him or troubled him that Japan had to think about his answer.  “Because,” he finally replied. “My people come first. Before my safety or my sanity come my people, and I would kill or die a thousand times if it meant they would prosper.”  Japan looked to Italy and asked, “Wouldn’t you do the same?”

Italy had no answer.  He wanted to agree just as fiercely as he wanted to deny it, so he said nothing, and did nothing, except hold his tongue and wait for whatever was to happen to him next.


	19. Cold Comforts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kai has tasked me with informing all of you that she is an adult, which I interpret to mean, "I am suffering so much, first and second graders are gremlins, and band is sucking my soul away as we speak." So that's an update on the co-author.  
> Edit: Yes I'm suffering so much but second graders are amazing I'm just very tired and band sucks up the remains of my soul more and more every day. The words "Set" "minus one" and "go metronome" haunt my dreams. But it's a good "I'm an adult." Haha. I'm tired. ~Kai  
> An update on the co-author's co-author at the end of the chapter. We love you all! Happy reading!  
> XOXO- Jay

For a long while, silence ruled over them, feeding the pit in Italy’s heart, until he felt so lonesome that he thought he might collapse in on himself, that time had stopped, that love had died, that peace were a mere fiction, and it was in the bleakest, darkest part of this affliction of Italy’s spirit that Germany lurched back to life.

He coughed, first, and then he groaned, and by the time he had begun tugging at his restraints, Italy had scooted himself over to meet him.  “Hey!” he said, “Hey! You’re awake!”

“Am I?” Germany grunted.  “It sure doesn’t feel like it.”  He looked around himself in the dim light of the shack, barely making out Japan’s vague outline.  “We’ve been captured,” he stated, his voice straining like long-stagnant gears put freshly to work.  He furrowed his brows and licked his lips. Mustering as much concentration as he could manage, he felt around for the tug of his land.  It escaped him. He huffed. “We’re still on the island. They haven’t taken it yet. Why?” 

“America is dead,” Japan answered him.  “Apparently, they picked him to claim the island, so, when he wakes up…” 

“They’ll kill us all again so that there’s no competition,” said Germany, plainly, mechanically.  “And then they’ll hold us prisoner until the war is over. I see.”

Italy found himself pulling away from Germany’s side, away from the foreign coldness he felt there.  It wasn’t unlike the ice in his own gut, yet, somehow, it made him shiver anew. He still couldn’t bring himself to doubt Germany’s words. 

“Germany,” Japan called out, still exhausted, still concerned.  “Will you be alright?” 

“You say that like I’m not fine right now,” Germany responded.  Japan and Italy stared at him in disbelief. “And they’ll never break me through their torture, if that’s what you mean,” Germany went on to explain.  “We’ll escape them. Then, we’ll destroy them. This is merely a setback.”

“Destroy them?” Italy repeated, deeply unsettled.  “Isn’t that a bit much?”

Germany frowned at him.  “Is that not the goal, here?”

“We can win the war without--without destroying anybody!” Italy floundered, fidgeting in his ropes. 

“The main issue for the moment,” Japan hurriedly cut in, “is escape.  Germany, does it feel like you could free yourself, or perhaps loosen some of Italy’s knots?”

“I’m not sure,” said Germany.  He flopped around some, and then, he grunted.  “I’ll find a way,” he finally decided. With that, he began to wriggle, fully determined to escape these bonds, just as he had escaped many that had come before them.

Italy and Japan watched his struggle until they fell asleep, but Germany himself persisted all through the night, only resting periodically--his wounds still smarted, after all, and he was very tired--until the first light of day, when China crept through the door, silent as the dawn.

Germany immediately went still, and watched through the dim, dull morning air as China patted Japan awake.

“Kiku,” China whispered.  “Wake up.”

Japan jolted awake, sucking in a startled breath as the last fragments of his troubled sleep melded with reality.  His heart pounded.

“Listen,” China murmured.  “Are you listening?” When Japan had gathered the wherewithal to nod, he continued, speaking low and quick.  “America, as of this morning, is alive. In just a little while, England and a few others are going to come here and give you a choice: concede the island to America, or be killed, and he’ll take it anyway.  Do you understand me so far?”

Japan searched his face before nodding once more.

“Good,” China continued.  “I’m going to make you a deal.  If you agree to concede, rather than be killed, I’ll make sure your future imprisonment is comfortable.”

Suspicion weighed on Japan’s brow.  “Comfortable how?”

“I’ll ensure that you’re treated with the dignity of nations, rather than grunts,” China told him.  “You’ll be given actual beds, for one thing. And,” he added, “I can limit future interrogations. I will make your imprisonment as comfortable as imprisonment can be.”

“You’re asking me to surrender,” Japan stated, “for the sake of simple luxuries, and an unbruised face.”

China only rolled his eyes.  “You must know you can’t win this.  I’m asking you to be reasonable.”

“It isn’t reasonable for you to make this offer,” Japan countered.  “What’s in it for you?”

“Do you have any idea how unpleasant it is to have to tote around three dead bodies?”  China huffed and turned his back on him, then. “It’s a long way from here to home, and it would be much easier for everyone involved if we could just march you there, not drag you.  Do we have a deal, or not?”

A bird twittered at the rising sun, somewhere outside the darkness of the shack.  Japan turned his head. He supposed his friends were sleeping, just as he himself had been until just moments before.  “I can’t be sure my allies will agree to this.”

“Oh, so you all plan on escaping within the next hour or so, do you?” China deadpanned, crossing his arms.  “This is a simple choice. Imprisonment will find you whether or not you agree to let me make it easier on you and your allies.”  He peered impatiently over his shoulder at Japan, nearly glaring. “The deal. Yes, or no?”

Japan gazed over his motionless friends just a heartbeat longer before he muttered, “Yes.  We have a deal.”

As soon as he got his answer, China headed for the door.  “I’m glad we’re seeing things the same way, for once.” He stepped out into the fresh morning without a backwards glance, and when he pulled the door shut, he lingered with his hand on the latch.  It was cool to the touch, the only hint of December to be found anywhere nearby. He leaned against the doorpost until he thought the rough-hewn grain of the wood might impress itself upon on his skin, at which point he took a deep breath, and stepped entirely away from the shack and its inhabitants.

Japan had agreed to his deal.  That was a mercy. He hadn’t lied, exactly.  Not really. He fully intended to keep his word, even if it would be somewhat of a pain.  And, it really, truly wasn’t pleasant to deal with corpses in any context. 

But the problem wasn’t the corpses.   It was that Japan’s would be among them.  The image that that thought had created had kept China up all night.  How absurd, he thought, that he should worry about Japan, even as they stood on opposite sides of conflict.  But then, hadn’t they always been at odds, even under the same roof? 

He stepped noiselessly through the dew-soaked grass and the sleepy buildings he had planted within it, and reasoned that matters of the heart, dangerous as they were in times of warfare, were perfectly acceptable when they were justified pragmatically.   Certainly, he further reasoned, this was one such case.

Death did horrible things to one’s disposition, as a general rule.  China had been ripped apart and put back together more times than he could count.  He had been killed by nature, executed by his Bosses, stoned by his people, assassinated by his enemies.  Death in any of its forms was enough to make anyone bitter, perhaps even vengeful, and the last thing he needed was a bitter, vengeful Japan waging war against him.

Well, he supposed.  More bitter and vengeful than usual.

As China marched along, attempting to justify his own kindness--and, of course, he wouldn’t allow himself to consider it such, not during a war, not towards an enemy--he stumbled upon France and England discussing something with each other as they plucked their respective garments from a clothesline and threw them into their bags.  They did plan to leave that day, after all, and China wouldn’t have looked twice at the scene, except that a certain sentence enticed him halt, and retreat behind a corner to eavesdrop.

“I think it’s a good idea, as long as we can make it look like an accident.”

China strained to catch England’s hesitant, doubtful reply.  “Perhaps, but… Have I grown soft?”

“My dear,” France replied matter-of-factly, “You’ve always been soft.  You’re not fooling anyone with that prickly exterior you put on.” He dawdled with an undershirt before adding, “Although, neither of us are really who we used to be, are we?  We’re old men now,” he chuckled. “Old men who have lived long enough to see enemies turn to friends, friends turn to enemies, enemies, back to friends… It gets difficult to tell the difference now and again, doesn’t it?”

“Speak for yourself, old man,” England scoffed.  China was beginning to grow rather impatient with the sentiment when England tersely continued, “They're not my friends.”

“And yet you’ve been miserable ever since we captured them.”

“Yes, yes, I know,” England huffed.  “It’s not that I care for any of them.  It’s that it’s nearly the holidays, and there’s been too much blood this year, as it is, and can you really blame me for wanting to be rid of them?  Really. I’ve had it up to my ears with all the violence and killing and prisoners and all the nonsense this war has brought on, and I need a damned holiday.  I’m not spending Christmas interrogating prisoners! I won’t! Besides, we’re kidding ourselves if we think they won’t worm their way out of prison sooner, rather than later.  Call me back in January, you’ll have your bloody war machine back after he’s had some eggnog and a decent night’s sleep.”

“A long sleep does sound nice.  No, I think you’re right, for once,” France chuckled.  That was odd behavior from someone who meant to undermine the authority of the group, China thought.  China had at least had the decency to not laugh while he plotted his dissent. France carried on. “Like I said before, I agree with you, but we need to be discreet.  I don’t think the others would be very happy to discover that our prisoners of war have gone missing.”

There was a great pause.  “I have an idea,” said England, “but we’ll need to keep everyone else out of the way while we handle the Axis.  Canada will want to stay with his brother. America, of course, is going to want to lay around for a little while, and Russia’s still recovering, too, so that leaves…”

The opportunity was far too tempting to resist.  “I’m pleased to find that you saved the best for last,” China called out, emerging from his hiding place.  England and France whirled to face him, wide-eyed and slack-jawed and entirely unprepared to defend themselves.

“Um!” England declared.

“China!” France supplied.

China sauntered over to his panicked allies.  “You should be more careful when you plot treason,” he said.  “Anyone could be listening.”

“Treason?” England repeated, putting on his best semblance of flabbergastedness.  “Treason?” he repeated, more incredulous, this time. “You must have misunderstood.  We were simply discussing the, erm, logistics of—“

“Staging a jailbreak?” China smugly prompted him.

France puffed himself up while England sputtered.  “Now, you listen here,” said France, jabbing a finger at China’s chest.  “You should forget everything you heard, and we’ll all pretend this conversation never happened.  And if you’re thinking about telling the others, just remember that it’s your word against ours, and—“

The situation had suddenly lost its savory appeal.  “Relax,” said China, rolling his eyes. “I’m not going to rat you out.”

They watched him with wary relief.  “Is that so?” England questioned him. 

“Sure,” said China, nodding easily.  “I’ve been listening a while, and you have some good points.  When it comes down to it, they’re just three soldiers. They’re more trouble than they’re worth.  I want to help you make life a little easier for all of us.” He grinned a little sharper and added, “For the right price, of course.”

France had looked like he wanted to smile before he was forced to scowl instead.  “Are you serious?”

“No, idiots,” China replied.  “It was a joke.” Neither of them seemed to find it very funny, but they brightened substantially when China asked, “What’s the plan?”

This time, England had the foresight to make absolutely sure there were no unwanted ears before he laid out his plan, and the sun hadn’t climbed much further into the clouds before the three of them had made their last preparations and went bursting into the prison shack. 

The scene onto which they stumbled was certainly not one which any of them had expected.  First they found Japan in his chair, stony-eyed, jaw clenched, looking anywhere but at Germany.  Germany appeared even angrier, with his red, pinched face. Italy was sniffling in a corner. None of them looked up.

England whistled at the sheer tension in the room.  “What happened here?”

“That’s not what we came to talk about,” China interjected, forcibly drawing all attention to himself before England and France could start wondering what their prisoners were doing up so early in the first place, let alone what they had to argue over.  “America’s awake, and he’s ready to claim the island.”

“Trying, as we speak, in fact,” France informed their miserable audience.  “But he hasn’t been able to, because at least one of you is still holding on, so it’s time for you all to let it go.”

Germany opened his mouth to fling something bitter at his enemies, but England shushed him.  “Don’t get your knickers in a knot,” he said, ignoring Germany’s scowl. “We’re being generous here.  You’ve got a couple of options. The first one,” he said, “Is a bullet to the brain.” He made a show of sliding his gun out of its holster.

“Then allow me to guess the second,” said Germany, tone as cold as winter, thoroughly unimpressed by England and his gun.  “We concede, and show you all just how weak willed we are.” He shot a glare at Japan, who didn’t have to see it to hear the venom in Germany’s words.  “We show you,” he bit out, “how easily we would abandon our orders, our mission, for the sake of mere convenience.” 

“You’re not entirely wrong,” said France, refusing to be perturbed by Germany’s foul mood, or by the fact that Japan now looked to be biting back fire.  “The other option is concession, but given that it’s Christmas Eve, and we’re all feeling a little generous, we’ve decided to… to sweeten the pot, you might say.”

“The answer is still no.  How many times will--”

“We’re offering you freedom.”  

Japan’s jaw loosened, Italy’s sniffles ceased, and even Germany’s scowl unpuckered itself somewhat.  “Why would you do that?” Germany demanded. 

“France gave you our reasons,” said England.  “We don’t have to explain anything else to you.  All you have to do is let the island go, and we’ll all go home and have a merry Christmas.  How about it? Just concede, and we’ll let you go. If you don’t, we’ll kill you and hold you as prisoners and squeeze every last drop of information we can get out of you until the end of the war.  Are we clear? Then let’s start with you, Italy. Do you--”

“Yes!” Italy yelped, nodding vigorously.  “I concede! I concede!”

“Italy!” Germany roared.  “This could be a trap! Don’t let them--” 

“Italy’s right,” Japan interrupted him.  “He’s right to concede. We’re more useful out there than we are as their prisoners, can’t you see that?  I’m suspicious, too, but I won’t look this gift horse in the mouth. I concede as well.”

The steel in Germany’s gaze could have sliced through a tank.  “It appears I’ve allied with fools.” 

“Has dying made you blind?  You’re the only fool here, Germany,” said China.  “Would you really rather stick to a hopeless mission than be free?”

Germany’s reply was without hesitation.  “I’m no fool. Death has returned to me my sense of perspective.  The mission is more important than me. The principle,” he stated, his voice rising, “of refusing to compromise, of refusing to surrender, is more important than me.  So kill me. I’ll take the bullet. Let these two go forsake their orders somewhere else.”

Through the tense silence that ensued, China was the only one who dared move.  He crouched down to Germany’s level, two cold stares clashing. “Then let’s make a new deal,” he said.  “Our threats to kill you don’t frighten you. I respect that. Here’s something that might. Concede, just like your allies have, or I will personally ensure that they know nothing but pain until the end of the war.”

“You’re bluffing,” said Germany, his stare unwavering.  “You’re too soft for that. All of you.” 

China frowned imperceptibly deeper, pulled out his gun, and shot Italy in the leg.  He spoke calmly, even as Italy screamed. “Are you sure?”

“You bastard!” Germany growled as the others shouted in alarm.  China paid them no heed.

“Do you concede or not?” he asked simply.  When Germany only grunted, he added, “I can shoot him again, if you’re still having trouble deciding.”

When, through his tears, Italy saw China’s gun being leveled at him again, he started to wail and plead all the louder.  Through all the incomprehensible sobbing, Germany swore he heard, “Lud, please--”

“I concede!” Germany shouted, his chest heaving.  “Take this damned island. I concede, just-- just stop all this.”

China lowered his gun.  “Very good,” he said, tucking away his weapon.  “As soon as we can sense that the island has been taken, we’ll untie you, and you’ll be free to go.”

The next few minutes passed in a silence that was riddled through with Italy’s sobbing.

“This is taking too long,” France muttered, finally succumbing to his urge to care for Italy’s wound.

“Just give him a minute,” said England, although he made no move to stop him.  He wanted nothing more than a cigar to calm his nerves, and to be away from all this as soon as possible.  China, on the other hand, stared blankly through the window, examining a clump of ivy that had begun a slow, persistent crawl up a neighboring wall.  How futile, China thought. How futile a crawl it was, when wall and ivy both would be leveled by next week, cleared away to make room for whatever structures of war should be built there, now that the island had an owner, a purpose.

The wait lasted a short eternity longer before finally, land melded with nation, and all the connections that had been lost in the midst of the ocean were restored.  No time was wasted working the ropes away. As soon as Japan was able, he hobbled stiffly out of his chair and went to Italy’s side, although he proved useless for more than simple comfort.  Japan could barely keep himself propped up, let alone support Italy’s weight--not alone, at least.

And so it was that Italy found himself limping forward with Germany at his left, Japan at his right, and an endless road winding through the dark waters before him.  Black clouds smothered the sun, and wind licked up their silence, but still, they marched onward, into the oncoming storm, with nothing to defend against it but each other, and the knowledge that there was no turning back from the course on which they were set. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed that! Writing for you all is a blessing. I hope you're having as much fun as we are.  
> Blessings to you all,  
> Jay


	20. Snow and Rain

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kai has allowed me one (1) use of cheesy 1940s slang. You may find it here. -Jay

“Well, great,” said England as Germany, Japan, and Italy vanished from sight.  “I hope this wasn’t a mistake.”

“They’re gone now, aren’t they?” China drawled.

“You!” France exclaimed, whirling on China.  “What were you thinking, pulling that stunt? Shooting Italy was not part of the plan!”

“It did the job, didn’t it?  Besides,” said China, “we can’t let them go around thinking we’re going to go easy on them after this.”

“You didn’t have to shoot him!” France insisted.

“I didn’t have to go along with your plan, either.”

“Enough!” shouted England.  “Enough of all this. Remember what we talked about?  We were trying to transport them, and they attacked all at once and escaped.  That’s the story. The more time we spend dawdling here, the less believable it’ll be, so let’s get a move on, shall we?” 

“Maybe we should get into a fist fight to make it that much more convincing,” China sarcastically suggested.

France, however, thought that sounded like an excellent plan.  Five minutes later, and sporting several new injuries each, the three of them trotted off to find the others. 

“What happened to your faces?” Russia asked as they filed into the sick bay, where Canada had taken up nursing, and Russia had taken up failing to engage Canada in conversation while his body struggled to knit itself back together.  America, who had had a much more difficult time shrugging death off his shoulders than Russia, had been unusually quiet until he discovered a new hobby, which mainly consisted of lazing about and admiring the pleasant buzz of expansion while thinking the world a very beautiful place.

Russia’s comment enticed America to to crack his eyes open just a hair.  “Woah,” he said, groggily examining their marked faces. “Ouch.”

“Were we attacked?” Canada asked, much more distressed than his brother had managed to be.  He moved to inspect France’s wounds further. 

France shooed him away with a shake of his head.  “Not in the strictest sense,” he said, looking to England.

“The prisoners managed to escape,” England explained, dabbing at his split lip with a handkerchief.  “They were smart, this time. They managed to wait until the island was claimed before they busted out--loose ropes, apparently--and then they attacked us all at once, which is--”

“You let them escape?”  Russia’s face fell like a broken glacier into the ocean.  “They were supposed to come to my house!” 

“Yes, well,” said England, his face pinched into a dismissive frown, “whether we like it or not, they’re gone.  I just want to go home before my house gets blown to smithereens, alright? So, if we’re all done, here…” 

“Is it time to go already?” America asked with a dopey grin.  “Hot dog! We still have time to go find a Christmas tree!” He swung his legs off the bed and got to his feet.  Much to everyone’s surprise--and, in the case of a few of them, disappointment--he didn’t fall, or even waver, despite having been dead mere hours ago.  “Come on, guys! Party at Canada’s place!” he declared. The weary glowers being thrown at him didn’t do a thing to quiet his laughter. “Last one there gets coal!”  With that, he raced away.

Canada trudged after him with a sigh.  “I better go home, before he buries everything I own under tinsel,” he said.  Then, he smiled at France and England. “It’ll be nice to take a break. You will be there, won’t you?”  As a courtesy--and an afterthought--he did briefly glance over China and Russia, too.

“Tomorrow,” England promised.  “As long as my Boss doesn’t keep me.  What with this mission having mostly been a success, I’m almost sure I’ll get away long enough for a little cocoa, at least.” 

“Great!” said Canada.  “What about--”

“We’ll be there.”  France patted Canada on the back and gently shoved him towards the door.  “Go on, catch up to your brother.”

“Alright.  And, um,” Canada faltered at the door, guiltily considering his other two allies.  “Russia? China? Do either of you--”

“I’m busy,” said China.

“Er, right.  And, um, Russia?”

Although the smile Russia gave Canada was considerably warmer than the one he usually wore, it seemed to have melted into a slushy kind of regret.  “I’m sorry, friend Canada. I’m afraid I’ll be needed at home,” he said.

Canada couldn’t imagine what Russia could have possibly meant by that, and he didn’t care to press for further information, as he was far too busy hiding his relief at the news that his holidays would remain a family affair this year.  “That’s a shame,” he said, turning away. “Maybe next year, eh?”

“Next year, the party will be at my house,” said Russia.  “There will food and dancing, and perhaps not a war, but certainly alcohol.  Oh, and sweets, too.” He took a few moments to push himself out of bed, wincing and grunting as he did so.  “Will somebody pass me my pipe?” he finally asked. “It’s right over--oh.” It was much to Russia’s disappointment that he had looked up to discover that nearly everyone had left him before he had finished making plans with them.  “How sad,” he said, and he meant it.

“Here.” China offered him his pipe, as requested, along with a speck of pity.  “Let’s get out of here. Can you walk?”

“I don’t know, yet,” Russia admitted, “but that is what the pipe is for.”  Slowly, gingerly, he slid out of bed, pressing his pipe into the floor with his weight.  “There we are,” he said, and he began his creeping stride out the door. China followed him.  “I could have really used this land,” Russia continued, summoning up the path to his home in the same breath.  “It would have helped me heal, I think. Maybe I can convince America to give it to me later.”

“I don’t know,” said China.  He turned to admire the buildings of the settlement he had placed there, like a field of dandelions in late spring, withering as soon as they had bloomed.   “I don’t suppose he would give it back,” he decided, putting his losses behind him. “I wouldn’t count on it, at least. Though I don’t need to tell you that.”

“No, you do not,” Russia agreed.

The lethargic amble they made across the sea would have been tedious to any pair of travelers not so rich in years as them.  Time, past a certain age, becomes a trifle when spent in good company. They said nothing as one hobbled forth, accompanied by the other, the air growing imperceptibly chillier with each step.  However, even China, old as he was, was capable of growing tired of silence. “You said you were needed at home,” he prompted his companion, hoping for some elaboration on the matter.

“Ah, yes,” said Russia, brightening at the thought.  “My friends-- you know my friends, don’t you? Lithuania, and Latvia, and Estonia?”

“They sound familiar,” said China.

“Good, good.  Anyway,” Russia continued, “The holidays are fast approaching, you see, and my friends should be decorating my home for the festivities that are to take place.  I will be needed at home soon, then, because none of my friends are tall enough to put the star on top of the tree.” China gave him a funny look, so he added, “The star is very important, China,” as if that settled the matter.

For Russia, China supposed, it did. “Of course it is,” said China, neither understanding the matter, nor particularly caring to do so.

“You said you were busy,” said Russia.

“I am,” China told him.  “Wars don’t stop for holidays.”

“People do, though,” Russia replied.  “Haven’t you ever watched them? No matter what chaos befalls these humans, they always find ways of making merry.”  His pipe clinked persistently along the stone beneath his boots in solitary harmony with the ocean’s waves. “They gather up all their family--all their friends--and they pretend for a while that they won’t all get caught up in some form of chaos or another, eventually.  It sounds nice, doesn’t it?” Russia looked to China in earnest, who only watched the horizon. “I know these things seem silly to you, China, but I really would like to have my house full of friends, one day. It could be like how the humans live.”

If China considered Russia’s words at all, he gave no sign of it, other than his quiet.  “Tell me, Russia,” he finally said.

“Yes?”

“You plan on eating a good meal.”

“As good as a meal can be, given the food shortages,” Russia told him.

Very slowly, China nodded.  “I will bring you food from my house, to help with this meal, and in return, I’ll help you eat it.  Do we have a deal?”

“That would be splendid!” Russia exclaimed, beaming as well as he could.

“This has nothing to do with your holidays,” China reminded him.

“Of course not,” said Russia, his grin settling back into its usual place.

“And we will discuss tactical plans over dinner,” China added.  “We’ll have to do that anyway, and it wouldn’t be good to waste a meeting.”

“Can it not wait until dessert?” said Russia.  “You’re too practical.”

“Yes, I am,” China agreed.  “I have to be practical so that when my allies go and do impractical things, like plan parties in the middle of a war, things can keep running somewhat smoothly.”

Russia smiled, and he meant it.

They continued in this manner until they parted ways, now fully entrenched in the cold of December.  High above, it had begun to snow.

***

“Those sure are some nasty clouds,” said Italy, although to him, it felt more like a plea.  To Italy, Japan and Germany felt more like pillars than people as they carried him along. For the past thousand or so agonizing steps of the way to Japan’s home, they had been about as talkative as pillars, too, so Italy decided to try rephrasing his sentiment.  Perhaps, he thought, that would earn him more than distant hums. “It looks like it might rain.”

“So it seems,” said Japan. 

“We should hurry,” Germany noted.

From there they collapsed back into their terse reticence.  Italy wasn’t sure how much longer he could bear it. They were supposed to be friends!  They were supposed to be talking these things out, not letting them stew! Besides all that, it was Christmas eve.  Italy had almost preferred it when his friends were arguing, because then they were at least showing some willingness to let themselves be understood by each other.

That morning’s argument had been a bitter one, though.  Since Italy had slept through the beginning of it, he wasn’t even entirely sure what it had been about.  He had woken to Germany shouting about discipline and respect of authority, and Japan glaring daggers back at Germany while very pointedly not-shouting back at him about reason and logic.  Germany had then retorted that Japan must know less about honor than everyone says, which, to Italy, didn’t seem entirely fair, but the remark had produced such a fury within Japan that Italy had been certain they would have come to blows had they not been tied up. 

Then again, Italy considered, being tied up was what had led to the argument in the first place.  Then, Italy thought, being tied up had been his fault entirely. It was his fault that his friends had been arguing, and it was his fault that they weren’t speaking, now.  Horrible guilt clawed at him until he came to the conclusion that it was his own fault that China had shot him in the leg, and that he therefore deserved all the pain he was in.  

A small voice in his head told him that it was perhaps also his fault that they would be going home for Christmas, but Italy quickly reprimanded it for being presumptuous, and decided that to blame himself for that particular miracle would be giving himself more credit than he was due.

The rain came down in a sheet, at once drenching the three of them.  The ocean and the rain lapped violently over the path ahead, obscuring it from view almost entirely, and the racket of water pounding down all around them and of thunder at their backs drowned out any hope Italy had had of conversation.  He forced himself to limp faster, despite how it hurt, and drew his friends closer to himself as they ducked together through the downpour. Italy promised himself that as soon as the rain stopped, he would get Germany and Japan to speak to each other.  He would keep his friends together and get them out of the war in one piece. Losing them wasn’t an option, now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dandelions can be symbols of persistence and survival (and their roots make delicious tea). If you're wondering why the ending of this chapter is a little odd, it's because it's essentially a preview of the next one. Chapters do not necessarily always line up with the ~2000 word chapter format we've been trying to stick with. Anyway, thank you all for your patience. Kai and I are working very hard to graduate college this year with three majors and three minors between us. Needless to say, we are very busy, but this fic is important to us and near to our hearts, and we will do our best to update it (sorta kinda) regularly.  
> Be looking forward to some fluff soon, and potentially a really long chapter. We'll see how much fluff there is!  
> I hope you all have wonderful weekends, and thank you to everyone who has commented. Your feedback really means a lot to us.


	21. Spare Pajamas

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprise! It's, like, 50% more chapter than usual, because I have no sense of pacing. Get cozy!  
> Love, Jay

Regret was not an emotion to which Germany was accustomed.  Many emotions eluded him, or at least, that was the general impression he usually got when interacting with nations older than himself.  That included most nations, he further considered, his allies and enemies alike.

Germany was accustomed to anger, and used to pain.  He had seen plenty of those in his admittedly short life.  He knew fear. His people felt it every day. Through them, he felt it himself, and he steadfastly ignored it.  It wasn’t a nation’s purpose to fear, to dread. Still, that certainly didn’t prevent nations from wallowing in these emotions now and again.  Italy did so frequently. Anxiety seemed to shiver its way out of Italy’s heart nearly as often as other, more pleasant, although equally unnecessary emotions, but somehow, Germany couldn’t find fault with Italy in this.

Excitement was one of those pleasanter emotions which frequently spouted out of Italy.  Energetically awaiting the future was a specialty of his, in trepidation or in joy alike.  Germany, on the other hand, found himself comparatively lacking in this department. The future would come, and he will have prepared for it.  There simply wasn’t any need to waste time and energy anticipating the future except with preparations made in the present. Worry served no purpose but to distract and discourage busy nations like himself.

Germany fixed his eyes on the road ahead and struggled to acknowledge that for all his pragmaticism, he had lately begun to worry with startling regularity.  Having allies had undoubtedly helped with that. Hardly a day had passed on the island that he hadn’t caught himself worrying over Italy or Japan, and he wondered if that qualified as care, or kinship, or even love.  He wondered if dealing with those emotions was something he even wanted. No, he firmly decided. Nations at war had no need—nor time, nor spare energy, it seemed—to examine their feelings, and Germany had no want of it, either. 

No, for Germany, there was no wanting.  There were only objectives. He would take away his people’s fear.  He would help them survive, perhaps even flourish. He would give his ailing brother a second chance at life.  Germany would  _ prosper. _

All he needed was to keep this one goal in mind: to become an empire.  If he could remain focused on that, and avoid all other distractions, he would succeed.

For this reason, it irked Germany greatly that he did, in fact, have feelings, and it irked him even more that they presented themselves to him at the most inopportune moments, and that nine times out of ten, he had absolutely no idea what to do with the pesky things.  

His biggest hurdle at the moment was the regret he felt churning like the fitful ocean in some obscure corner of his heart.  He had been very frustrated when he had found it there, and had doggedly set about discerning the reason such an emotion had imposed itself upon him.  Logically, Germany could assume that he felt regretful because he had failed his mission. That should have been it, except he knew that it wasn’t. No, the source of his regret was limping along beside him, not behind him, and it was begging to be acknowledged by something other than the wind and the mounting drizzle.

The fact of the matter was, Italy had been shot, and it was entirely Germany’s fault.  He had only acted towards his goals--one does not become an empire by backing down at threats and promises from untrustworthy enemy nations--and yet he regretted his actions.

He hadn’t wanted Italy to get hurt, but wounds were part of war.  Germany knew that much. He and Italy and Japan and all their people would suffer even more greatly if they were to lose this war, and so Germany believed that any pain endured for the sake of the goal was justifiable.

And still, he felt regret, and he felt it more deeply every time he pretended he hadn’t heard Italy groan.   

Between his guilt and Italy’s aborted attempts at conversation, Germany thanked the heavens for cracking open above their heads, because once the rain began to hammer down and wash over the road, he could wholeheartedly fling his concentration onto the matter of guiding himself and his allies forward without misstepping into the ocean.  That was much more productive than examining whatever it was his heart was doing. 

They stepped dripping out from under the storm a short while later, thoroughly soaked.  When the last of the thunder had rolled away from them, Italy cleared his throat to speak.

“It, um,” he faltered.  “It doesn’t really hurt that much.”

Germany looked to him in surprise.  “It doesn’t?”

“Yeah, I can hardly feel it!” he cheerily replied, and it was true.  He had lost much of the feeling in his leg somewhere in the middle of the storm.  The remaining ache still left him feeling like he might vomit, but Germany didn’t need to know that.  He forced a laugh. “It’s nothing, really! Now, a bee sting, on the other hand--” 

“It is not necessary that you play down your injury in order to spare Mr. Germany guilt, you know,” Japan sharply cut in.  “I am deeply impressed by the strength you have shown thus far, Italy. There is no reason to hide your pain.”

Germany pulled the trio to a halt.  “So I’m ‘Mr. Germany’ to you now, am I?” 

“Certainly,” said Japan, ignoring the dread in Italy’s eyes to glare into Germany’s.  “By what else is an honorless fool with no respect for authority to refer to his superior?”  A straggling rumble of thunder shook the air in a dull boom. “Shall we continue, Mr. Germany?  Italy has lost quite a lot of blood.”

“I’m fine, can we please just--”

“Japan,” Germany incredulously stated, not budging.  “Japan,” Germany repeated, “Really? That’s--This is--”  Japan watched him expectantly as he floundered. Finally, Germany settled on, “I’m not your superior.”  Japan was about to confirm that that was the only fault Germany had found with Japan’s words when Germany continued, “And you’re not an honorless fool.  I regret that I said those things to you. And Italy,” he went on and waited until he had Italy’s full attention before saying, “I didn’t mean for you to get hurt.  Nevertheless, I am to blame.”

“It’s not your fault,” Italy insisted.  “You shouldn’t blame yourself, Germany!”

“Italy, please,” Germany sighed.  “I should have known better than to underestimate China.” 

“But--”

“Germany has a point,” said Japan, watching the two of them.  “China is not a foe to take lightly, and that we got away from him and the others so easily is deeply suspicious.”

Italy sniffled and said, “I wouldn’t really call it easily.”  He adjusted his grip around his friends’ shoulders and added, “Can we maybe talk while we walk?”

“So it does hurt,” said Germany, stepping forward again.  Italy’s silence was all the answer he needed. “Hold on just a little longer,” he said, giving Italy’s shoulder a reassuring squeeze.  “We’re almost back to your house.” 

“Romano’s going to be so mad at me,” Italy groaned.

“Why would he be upset with you?” Japan asked, concerned weighing on his brow.  “You’ve done nothing wrong.”

Italy sighed.  “He hates it when I leave him to do my work.”

“Then he should be very happy to see you,” said Japan.  “Your return means that he no longer has to do your work, does it not?”

Italy smiled faintly at him.  “Hey, thanks. I never thought of it like that.” 

“I know that that’s how Prussia is going to see things when I finally get home,” said Germany.  “Even if he is always looking for an excuse to look after my dogs, I doubt he’s going to miss doing my paperwork.”

“That kinda reminds me,” said Italy, limping carelessly into a puddle.  “You’re staying for Christmas, right? You and Japan, and Prussia, too?”  When neither Japan nor Germany answered right away, he added, “Come on, guys!  I have presents for you! And I’m wounded. You wouldn’t leave me to do Christmas with a bum leg and no friends, right?  That’s just sad.”

“I suppose one more day couldn’t hurt,” Germany conceded.  As urgently as he felt he needed to get back to work, he was nonetheless reluctant, especially when he thought of reporting back to his Boss.  “Prussia will undoubtedly want to know we’re back, regardless.”

“And I,” stated Japan, “will need to rest before I make the my journey home, so if you’re inviting me to stay--”

“I am!” Italy chirped.  “Of course I want you to stay!”

“--Then I will gladly accept.”  Before Italy could get too excited, he added, “But of course, after I stay the night, I’ll have to leave while the day is still young.  It would be unfair to those who are waiting for my return if I lingered with you for much longer than necessary.”

“Sure, sure, I get it,” Italy agreed, unable to extinguish his smile now that he knew he would have a full house for the holidays.  

“And I will need to get back to my work too,” Germany told him.  “Although, given the proximity of my home to yours… I’ll at least stay long enough to ensure that your injury is healing properly,” he said.  He wasn’t sure which of his bothersome emotions prodded him into adding, “It’s my responsibility.”

Italy let his head loll into Germany’s shoulder.  “I appreciate it,” he said. “Between you and my brother, I’ll be better in--” Suddenly, he gasped, and his head shot up, nearly knocking into Germany’s chin.  “Look! Look!” He pointed wildly over his friends’ shoulders. “Over there!”

As soon as they had recovered from their initial startledness, Germany and Japan followed Italy’s excited gestures until they found a massive rainbow adorning the edge of a far-off stormcloud, water and light intermingling in sheer beauty.

“Isn’t it wonderful?” Italy cooed.

Germany found himself staring.  “Yes,” he said, “I believe it is.”

“Ah,” said Japan, a smile playing at his lips.  “How fitting that a rainbow should appear just as Italy’s land has come up on the horizon.”

“So it has,” said Germany, peering ahead to find that Japan had spoken the truth.  “But what makes a rainbow fitting?”

Japan looked to the rainbow as he answered, “It’s a sign that troubled times have come and gone.  China used to tell me of a goddess that-- well, it was a long story, but it made me think of rainbows as a kind of bandage for the heavens.”

“That doesn’t make a lot of sense, Japan,” said Italy.  Japan frowned to himself, but couldn’t disagree.

“Rainbows look more like bridges than bandages to me,” said Germany.  “What was that old tale? Rainbows are how some goddess or another got from heaven to earth?”

Italy laughed at them.  “All this talk about goddesses,” he said.  “All I can think of when I see a rainbow is how beautiful it is.”  He smiled. “Beauty, and peace, too, but they’re kind of the same thing, aren’t they?”

The closer they got to Italy’s home, the dimmer the rainbow became, until it was nothing but a memory etched across the sky.  Nobody missed it, however, by the time they all went tumbling into Italy’s sitting room, soaking wet and exhausted.

“Ow, ow, ow,” Italy groaned as his friends lowered him into a wooden chair.  “Oh, it feels nice to be home, but I didn’t think it would hurt this much to get off my feet…”

“Try to relax,” Germany told him, peeling off his own boots.  He deeply regretted the mud that had been tracked into the house, but he supposed he had more important things to handle at the moment.  “You should heal faster now that you’re back with your land and your people. Are they in good spirits?”

Italy thought about it.  “Yeah, I think so,” he said, tugging at his own boots.  “Could be better, but could be worse, you know?”

“That is to be expected,” said Japan.  “Italy, you should get into some dry clothes, and your bandages need to be changed as well.  Would you like me to help you to your bedroom?”

“Um,” said Italy, “No, actually, I think I still have some crutches from that time I fell out of a tree.  They’re in…” He screwed up his face in thought. “Oh! They’re in the linen closet, way in the back! Could you go get them for me, pretty please?” 

“Of course,” said Japan.  He carefully stepped out of his filthy shoes and dutifully went on his hunt.

Germany gave Italy a doubtful glance.  “When did you fall out of a tree?” he asked.

“Oh, that,” said Italy.  “Well, you know my cat, don’t you?  This one time, a swan came to sit in my garden--” Here his voice went muffled as he tugged his sopping shirt off over his head.  “--and my poor little kitty cat got spooked! So he clawed his way up that tree just outside--no, actually, wait, it was-- it was a different one-- anyway, so I had to climb up and get him, because it was dinner time, and he was too scared of the swan to come down.  I think maybe I should have just left him up there for a while, because boy, he wasn’t happy when I got up to where he was!”

“Is that so?” Germany bemusedly asked.

“It is so!” Italy informed him, momentarily forgetting his pain in the storytelling.  “He yowled and cried and scratched me up so bad I lost my grip on the tree branch, and I fell down and broke my leg.  I think he felt bad after that, because he stayed in bed with me the whole time I was recovering.”

It was about that time that Japan returned with Italy's crutches, which was a blessing for Germany, who couldn't figure out whether or not it would have been appropriate to laugh.  Italy, at this point half undressed, thanked Japan for the favor and went hobbling away to change. 

“Italy is an odd one, isn't he?” Germany mused.

“Certainly,” Japan agreed, having only heard muted fragments of the tale.  “He certainly is. Do you believe he would mind if I used his phone? I left Mr. Thailand to watch after my home, and I would like to tell him that I'll be back soon.”

“The phone is by the kitchen, if I’m not mistaken,” said Germany, waving Japan in that direction.  “I'm going to go find some bandages, and perhaps some alcohol.” He wearily shook his head. “It's been a long week.” 

“Indeed it has,” Japan agreed.  “I won't be long. Please excuse me.”

Germany nodded and went about his business.  It felt strange to be in a house after all the time they had spent burrowing in the sand or in caves or on unfriendly dirt floors.  He wandered through Italy’s halls until he came upon Italy’s room, its door partially shut. “Italy, are you alright in there?” he called, not deigning it appropriate to peek inside, lest he see Italy in all his glory once again.

“Uh,” said Italy.

Germany frowned.  “Can I come in?”

“Yeah,” said Italy.  When Germany turned the corner, he found that Italy had all but one leg--his bloodied, injured leg-- uncovered.  “I’m kind of stuck,” Italy explained, perched on the side of his bed. “And I don’t want to get blood on my sheets, you know?  And when I pull on it, it just hurts. Could you maybe--”

Germany needed to hear nothing more.  “Where do you keep your bandages?”

“They’re in there, under the sink, next to the--oh, well, you’ll see them,” said Italy, smiling tiredly.  “Thanks, Lud.” 

Germany hummed, left, and returned a minute later with all the necessary medical implements he could find.  He shortly examined Italy’s wound, frowned at it, and concluded, “Your trousers are completely ruined.”

“Does this mean I don’t have to wear them anymore?”

Germany huffed a laugh.  “Fortunately, you have spares.”

“Darn,” said Italy as Germany began snipping away at his bandages.  To fill the silence, he said, “You’re going to need a new uniform, too, Captain.  I can still see where they shot you.”

“It’s a shame, isn’t it?” said Germany, working swiftly.  He snipped once or twice more, and with a single tug, Italy’s leg was freed.  “That’s why we keep extras.”

“Hey, that didn’t even hurt!” Italy marveled.

“I’m afraid this next part might,” said Germany, ready to disinfect the wound.  “Hold still.” Germany made quick work of Italy’s injury, and soon, he was helping Italy into a pair of flannel pajama pants.  “There,” he declared when Italy seemed suitably comfortable. “Better?”

“It’s the best I’ve felt in days,” Italy answered him, his smile bright and fleeting as a summer sunset.  “Hey, speaking of spares,” he cheerfully added, “I have some extra pajama pants if you want to get cozy, too.”

“No, no,” Germany sighed, “As tempting as that is, I need to run home before evening comes.  You did want Prussia here, didn’t you? For Christmas, and everything.” 

Italy bit his lip.  “Well, yes,” he said, reaching for Germany’s hand.  Germany let him take it. “Promise me you won’t get caught up in your work.  You’re going to go home, and you’ll feel your people, and how stressed out they are, and then  _ you’ll  _ start to feel that way, and you’ll see all the stuff you think you left behind-- Christmas is just one more day, Lud--”

“Feliciano,” said Germany, looking Italy in the eyes.  “I’ll only be an hour or two, just long enough to grab a few things, and then I’ll be back with my brother.”  Italy didn’t let go of his hand until he said, “I promise you.”

“Alright,” said Italy, and that was that. 

Italy was much slower to make his way back towards the living areas of his home than Germany, and for that reason, he was not at all surprised to find that Germany had already left by the time he made it to the kitchen for a glass of water.  Japan appeared to have made himself at home by the telephone, but he didn’t look very happy about it.

“Hey,” Italy called out to him, “Are you alright?” 

“Ah, Italy--”

“Feli,” Italy corrected him.

Japan cleared his throat.  “Feli,” he started again. “My apologies.  You look much better now.”

“Thanks,” Italy laughed, “but I asked about you.”

“Oh, it’s nothing, really,” said Japan, although his face told a different story.  When Italy seemed still to be waiting, Japan hesitantly continued, “I was on the phone with Mr. Thailand, who was watching my house,” he said.

“Is that bad?” Italy asked him.

“No,” said Japan.  “Nothing bad at all has happened.  In fact, I’ve had some very good news, the least of which being--” He paused and let out a breath.  “I was concerned that my Boss would be upset by my absence, but as it turns out, he never even noticed I was gone.”

Italy’s crutches clicked haltingly across the floor as he moved closer to Japan.  He opened his mouth, and shut it, and then opened it once more. “I’m glad you’re here, Kiku,” he said, and Japan tried very hard not to look affected by those words.  “Hey, why don’t you get changed out of those dirty clothes and put on some nice pajamas like mine?” he offered. “I have extra. I know they’d fit you, too--well, they might be a little long for you--not that you’re super short, or anything!  It’s just that I’m kinda tall--”

Japan smiled, then. “Thank you, Feli,” he said.  “I believe I would like that very much.”


	22. Rest

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been so angsty-gritty lately. The next little while is officially the fluff intermission. Enjoy! - Jay

There was a certain ache in coming home after a long absence.  As Germany crossed the threshold of his land, his peoples’ worries and fears hit him with such force that he had to stop and focus on his breathing.  It was pure anxiety, almost painful in its intensity. Vaguely, Germany wondered if Italy often felt that way, and what he did about it when he did. Germany decided to close his eyes and let the spell pass.

He waited until the worry of his people lost its potency, until it returned to its rightful place as background noise in some shunted corner of his mind, before he resumed his journey home through the shivering evergreen that surrounded him.  His legs were weary, and he wanted a rest. 

A sprig of holly greeted him from where it hung, neatly decorating his front door.  Germany knew who had put it there, and it hadn’t been him. There was something bittersweet about that.  Germany didn’t have the energy to parse out why. He pushed past the holly and entered his home. 

Before Germany had even finished shucking off his boots, Prussia came rushing in from some other part of the house, wrapped in a house robe and trailed by a bird.  “West! It’s you! You’re—“ He faltered the moment his eyes caught up with his excitement. “You’re covered in blood.”

“It’s old,” Germany insisted, tiredly hanging the offending jacket on his coat rack.  He would deal with it later. “I’m fine now. But you— you sound even more hoarse than when I left here.”

“Don’t try to change the subject,” said Prussia, his brows angling sharply towards his eyes.  “What happened to you?”

“I promise, I’ll tell you all about it,” Germany sighed, “but not right now.”  He attempted to shrug past his brother, and was immediately thwarted.

“What’s so important you can’t explain why you came home looking like someone used you for target practice?” Prussia demanded.  “I swear, if you’re trying to get to your office in the state you’re in—“

“Gilbert, please,” said Germany, exasperated.  “I haven’t bathed in a week. I’m starting to grow a beard.  My socks are so full of dirt and filth that I’m fairly certain they qualify as ecosystems by this point, and I think my odor is beginning to attract flies, so for the love of God, Gilbert, let me take a bath.”

Despite Germany’s distress, a grin cracked across Prussia’s face.  “You always did get cranky if you got dirty,” he said, pulling his little brother into a hug.  “Go take a bath. I have a phone call to make.”

Germany grunted, but before he trudged away, he said, “Italy wants us to spend Christmas with him.”

“Does he?” Prussia replied, brightening.  “Great, I’ll bring a turkey.”

Germany gave his brother a weary wave and retreated into the depths of his home to prepare.  As he passed by his office, he made it a very stern point not to look inside. 

 

***

Soft, warm pajama pants were delightful.  That was Japan’s firm opinion on the matter, now that he had wriggled out of his mud-caked clothes and bandages, bathed--baths were another matter of wonder entirely--and settled himself into the garments with which Italy had provided him.  He supposed anything would have felt nice after the last few days, but then he had stepped back into Italy’s kitchen to be met with the scent of fresh cocoa and a warm mug. He hadn’t made his mind up about this ‘Christmas’ business yet, but if these things were part of it, Japan had a feeling the festivities would grow on him.

Italy had just begun to fret to Japan that he wouldn’t have a chance to run to the market when the front door burst open.

“Veneziano!” Romano shouted, startling everyone, even himself.  “How long have you been home, you bastard? And you’ve got those god-forsaken crutches--” He stomped past the mud on the floor to confront his brother.  “What do you think you’re doing, sitting here, drinking your damned cocoa-- you know how I had to find out you were home? Prussia!” he angrily stated. “I get a call from the damned potato before I hear from my own brother!”

Japan looked on as Italy shrunk down in his chair and attempted an explanation, but Romano wouldn’t hear it.

“And you got hurt again,” he continued, tears welling up in his eyes.  He didn’t seem to notice them. “Every time you go out with him--what the hell even happened to you that you need crutches?  Germany was right to not be here when I got here, because I think I’m going to kill him the next time I see him.”

“Oh, don’t do that,” Italy pleaded.  “We already got killed once this week--”

“You fucking what?” Romano demanded.

“Uh,” said Italy, fiddling with the nearly empty mug in his hands.  “Well, you see, I kind of got shot a time or two.” Romano looked as though he might combust.  “Germany got killed too though, and Japan got shot and interrogated, so, you know, it wasn’t like it was just me getting hurt--”

Romano whirled on Japan.  “What the hell were you doing all this time, then?”

“I believe I was getting shot and interrogated, Mr. Romano.”

“Oh, fuck off,” Romano grumbled.

Italy pried Romano’s hand out of his crossed arms and held it.  “Please don’t be mad at Germany and Japan,” he said. “They tried their best to protect me, okay?  And it’s Christmas Eve--”

“Fine, fine,” Romano griped, pulling his hand away.  “I’ll let it go if you promise not to give me that meaning of Christmas bullshit.” 

“Thank you,” said Italy, settling down again.  “And I’m really sorry for not coming to get you sooner.  I swear, I was gonna do it soon!” 

“Eh, whatever,” said Romano.  He plopped into a nearby seat.  “I’ll let it slide, just this once.  You’re lucky you didn’t get much paperwork this week, otherwise I was gonna leave it for when you got back.  Oh, and there was a sale at the bakery this week, so I got you a fruitcake. You’re welcome.” 

“Hey, thanks!” said Italy, grinning brightly.  “That really helps! But… oh, I don’t know how I’m going to feed  everyone. I’m sure I have a little food around, but like I was telling Japan earlier, I think the markets are gonna be closed for the holidays, and I kind of didn’t think about that when I invited so many people over, to be completely honest--”

“What would you do without me?” said Romano, a smug smile playing at his lips.  “I did your shopping for the week already. Ate some of it, too, since you were gone so long.  The bill’s on the counter, and let me tell you, I did what I could, but it isn’t pretty. Damned food shortages making everything more expensive--do you know how much some cheese cost me?  I won’t even tell you. It was a sin. But I told the grocer that if he thinks he can get away with charging that--”

It was about then that Japan stopped listening.  It wasn’t that cheese prices bored him-- well, that may have played a small role in his tuning-out of the conversation, but for the most part, it was the warmth that had begun to blanket his skin.  At first, he had thought it was the cocoa. Then, however, the cocoa ran dry, and he remained warm, and his skin began to tingle pleasantly beneath his borrowed clothes.

Quietly, he excused himself and slipped away.  He had decided a long time ago that the experience of expansion was something best kept private.  It wasn’t entirely unexpected--Thailand had told him the invasion of Hong Kong had been going well, but Japan hadn’t realized it was going so well as to be completed that very day.  Nonetheless, it was no small victory. Japan reminded himself that his people would doubtless have to fight many battles to come in order to sustain the victory, and that it very well could get ripped away from him.

Still, it was a victory, and victory was intoxicating.  It was a balm for his pride, his spirit, his soul. He closed his eyes and let himself get lost in it--for how long, he didn’t know.  He didn’t care. At least, he didn’t care until the bliss faded back into a mere buzz, and he remembered his manners. Japan took great pride in there being very few things which could entice him to forget his manners, and so he checked his appearance in the mirror and began to think of a white lie with which to explain his absence.

When he found his way back to Italy’s sitting area, he found that he had no need of an excuse, after all.  With Prussia and Germany having newly arrived, he was able to slip back in discreetly as the others chattered.

“I suppose it’s a good thing we brought food, then,” Germany was saying, laden with groceries.  Japan barely recognized him as being the same man he had spent the past week with, clean-shaven and neatly clothed as he was.  “This should be more than enough for everyone.” 

“Don’t think your little peace-offering gets you off the hook,” Romano told him.  “It’s still your fault.”

“Come on now, give him a break,” said Prussia, bouncing the bags he held in his arms.  “We even brought a turkey! Nothing says forgiveness like a turkey.”

Romano frowned at him, unconvinced.  “Turkey, huh? I know food’s kind of scarce these days, but I really hope you don’t mean your little friend, there,” he drawled, poking at Prussia’s bird.

Prussia himself looked nearly as offended as his pet.  He coughed harshly and declared, “He’s an eagle!”

“And I’m the prime minister.”

“Romano,” Italy whined, “You promised to be nice!” 

“I am being nice!” said Romano.  Italy began to sulk, so he stalked over to where Prussia and Germany were beginning to struggle with their burdens and took several bags into his own arms.  “Look, see? Nice,” he stated, whisking a load of food away to the kitchen.

Japan, finally deeming it safe to speak, called out, “Would you like some assistance, Mr. Romano?” 

There was some silence and rustling from the kitchen before Romano replied, “Yeah, actually.  This is more food than I thought.” 

“That is a fortunate problem, isn’t it?” said Japan, wandering into the kitchen after him.

“Be careful of the eggs!” Germany advised, having just remembered them.

Italy hopped up on his crutches and said, “Eggs?  What’d you bring eggs for?”

“Well,” said Germany, “There was a pastry I wanted to try baking over the holidays this year, and I--”

“I didn’t know you baked!” Italy exclaimed with glee.  

“Worse,” Prussia cut in.  “He stress bakes.”

“I do not!” said Germany, flushing. 

Italy hobbled into the kitchen.  “I wanna help Germany stress bake!”

Prussia cackled and joined him.

“It isn’t stress baking!” Germany helplessly insisted.  “At least, it wasn’t going to be stress baking, until now,” he sighed, and trailed in behind them.

Romano was none too pleased with this development.  “When the hell did everyone decide this was where the party was?” he asked.

“We’re baking!” Italy happily informed him.  “Where’d you put those eggs?” 

“Baking?” Romano incredulously repeated.  “Hey-- put that down! Me and Japan just put that away!”

“You did a really good job,” said Italy, patting his brother on the arm.  “This is my kitchen, though. What else do we need, Captain?” 

Before Germany could answer, Romano groaned and said, “Screw this, I’m going to Mass.”

Italy’s thoughts of baking came to a screeching halt.  “Christmas Mass! How could I forget?” he said, flailing for his crutches.  “I need to get dressed--”

“Hold it,” Romano huffed.  “Sit your ass back down. You have your heathen guests to entertain.” He glanced up at the others and added, “No offense.”

“None taken, I get it,” said Prussia, nodding lightly.  “I was Catholic once.”

Romano rolled his eyes and turned back to his brother.  “Besides, you’re on the mend. People are gonna be real suspicious if you come back next week all better from a bullet wound, so just sit this one out, alright?  I’ll tell all the little old ladies who ask about you that you got a cold or something.”

“Lying’s a sin, big brother,” Italy teased him.

“It’s not lying,” said Romano, heading for the door.  “It’s protecting the peace. And maybe getting us some free soup,” he added, after some thought.

“Hey, wait,” said Italy, suddenly serious.  “Take that money I have sitting on the table in there.  I was going to take it to Mass tonight, since they’re taking an offering for all the new widows, so could you take it for me?” 

“Yeah, sure,” said Romano, stuffing the money into his pocket.  “Just save me some of--whatever it is you’re doing in there. I’ll see you after Mass.”

A chorus of goodbyes followed him out the door, and then the kitchen became abuzz with activity.

“What are we making, anyway?” Italy asked, hopping around his cabinets looking for where the flour had gone.

Prussia looked to Germany and said, “Didn’t you want to make--” he coughed shortly.  “ _ \--Bethmännchen _ ?”

“Gesundheit,” said Italy.

Germany frowned at him.  “Yes, we’re making  _ Bethmännchen _ .  Please get the almonds, Italy.”

“Sure thing, Captain!”

“Um,” said Japan.  “Excuse me, I don’t wish to complicate the situation, but is anybody else interested in, erm,” he bit his lip.  “A proper dinner?”

A light laugh escaped Italy.  “You know, all this talk about food, and I kind of forgot I was hungry.  It’s been so long since the last time we ate.”

“It feels like a lifetime ago,” Germany admitted.  “I hadn’t realized how hungry I was until you mentioned it, Japan.”

“My apologies,” said Japan. “If you would like, I could throw something together while you all prepare the beth-- the pastries.”

Prussia held back a laugh.  “Great idea, Japan. I’ll help.”

“Ah, thank you,” said Japan.  “Is there any rice?” 

“I have some short pasta,” said Italy.  “That’s close enough, right?” 

By some miracle, dinner was served and eaten without major incident--although it turned out to be a rather odd meal, by anyone’s standards--and by the time Romano returned from Mass, the pastries were cooling on a windowsill.  Despite their weariness, the five of them stayed up until late in the night swapping stories and recounting the week’s events. 

Japan was the first to fall asleep in one of Italy’s plush chairs, although nobody noticed until Romano bid everyone goodnight and returned to his house next door, promising to return the next morning.  Prussia chose to retire shortly thereafter. Before he found his way to one of Italy’s guest rooms, however, he gave Japan just enough of a nudge that Japan awoke believing that he had only dozed off for a short moment.  Japan politely excused himself, then, as well.

“Well, I think it’s long past my bedtime,” said Germany, standing with a stretch.  “Goodnight, Feli. Oh, would you mind showing me to a guest room? I’m still not very familiar with your house” 

Italy blinked up at him.  “Huh,” he said. “I didn’t think of that.”

“Didn’t think of what?” Germany asked, his eyebrows knitting themselves tiredly together.

“I only have two spare rooms,” said Italy, “and unless Japan went and cuddled up with your brother…”

Germany closed his eyes and took a very deep breath.  “One night on a couch won’t hurt after the week we’ve had.”

“Hey, there’s no need for that!” said Italy.  “My bed’s plenty big enough for the two of us!”

Germany stared at him for a long moment.  He looked to the couch, and then back to Italy, and the aching in his bones made the decision for him.  “Alright,” he finally said.

“Alright,” Italy repeated, smiling up at him.  “You go on ahead. I’m gonna lock up the house, first.”

Germany nodded and shuffled towards Italy’s room, eyes heavy-lidded, and when his head at last found a pillow, before Italy had even turned out the last lights, he fell instantly into sleep’s warm embrace.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holly can be symbolic of sacrifice, or eternal life.   
> The Battle of Hong Kong, alluded to in this chapter, began on December 8 and came to its conclusion on December 24, 1941. At this time, Japan gained control of the then-English colony.   
> Finally, I know very little about German pastries (and most other things) so if anything is off, feel free to let me know! Thanks again to everyone who has commented and/or left kudos so far. Your feedback means the world to us.


	23. Gifts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's practically December, right? Either way, it's The Christmas Chapter! Even if Christmas isn't your cup of cocoa, this chapter contains enough fluff to give everyone the warm fuzzies. Enjoy!  
> -Jay

It wasn’t his house.  That was the first thing keeping Germany in bed.  It wasn’t his house, and more importantly, his host was asleep.  Chiefly, he knew this because said host was snoring into his chest, and had been doing so for the past half hour or more.

That was the second thing keeping Germany in bed.  Even the exhaustion that had so quickly put him to sleep couldn’t prevent his habitual waking at the first light of dawn, and he had spent the first dim while of the day staring intermittently out the window and down at Italy.  Normally, he would have berated himself heavily for lying in bed for so long, but this was not a normal morning.

No, it was Christmas, and Germany supposed that meant something.

He wondered if anyone else was awake, and how long it would be until Italy opened his eyes.  He then wondered if Italy would find it odd that he had been lying awake in bed with him while he slept, and if it would be seen as polite or rude to get out of bed now, as opposed to later.  He had no idea what the etiquette concerning bed-sharing was, except that one should never hog the blankets. He only knew that rule because Prussia had broken it frequently when they were small.  Italy certainly wasn’t Prussia, Germany considered. This wasn’t his house. It was Christmas. Italy was sleeping on him.

There wasn’t a manual for this.

Germany’s thoughts drifted with the brightening clouds out the window, and when he looked back down at Italy, he was startled to find a pair of eyes peering sleepily back at him.

“Merry Christmas, Ludwig,” Italy mumbled, making no move to disentangle himself from Germany. 

“Merry Christmas,” Germany repeated, blinking back at him until a quiet laugh bubbled out of Italy.  “What?”

“Nothing,” said Italy, finally pulling himself out of bed.  Germany frowned at him, and he laughed once more. “You think too loud.  It woke me up.”

“You don’t make any sense in the mornings,” Germany told him, likewise abandoning the warmth of sleep in favor of getting dressed.

Italy stepped into a pair of house shoes.  “Maybe I’ll make more sense after breakfast,” he yawned.  Then, still clad in his pajamas, he shuffled off to the kitchen.

Germany joined him not long afterwards, and he was not at all surprised to find Prussia and his bird already there, helping Italy with the cooking.

Italy huffed when he noticed Germany walk in, dressed for the day, just like his brother.  “You two are making me feel underdressed,” he pouted.

“Old habits die hard,” said Prussia, throwing him and Germany a grin.  “You two look like you slept well.”

Prussia himself didn’t look like he had slept at all, but Germany wasn’t going to mention that.  “Didn’t have much of a choice, after the week we had,” he said instead, brushing past Prussia to start up a pot of coffee.

“Of course, of course.  I’m sure Italy’s bed was much comfier than the couch by a long shot,” Prussia continued, face still stretched smug.  “Warmer, too. Space isn’t an issue if you’re a cuddler, right? And they say sleeping next to someone reduces stress.  Especially when it’s someone you like.” 

Italy watched with rosy cheeks as Germany said, “And what exactly are you implying by that?”

“I’m not implying anything!” Prussia replied.  “Nothing at all! I mean exactly what I say, all the time.”

Germany glowered at him.  “I should have gotten you coal.”

Prussia cackled, then, and said, “Coal is great.  It keeps you warm, like sharing a bed with your--”

“Good morning, Japan!” Germany declared so suddenly and so cheerily that Japan startled.  “Merry Christmas! How did you sleep?”

“Um,” said Japan, somewhat bewildered.  “I slept very well, thank you. Sorry, er, is everyone… alright?” 

“Everyone’s fine, just fine!” Germany assured him, silently bidding him not to acknowledge Prussia’s snickering, or Italy’s blush.  “It’s Christmas, after all! Do you want some coffee?”

“I have tea, too!” Italy chimed in.  “Nothing like a nice cup of tea to wake you up on a chilly morning, right?”

Japan narrowed his eyes at them in concern.  “Are you sure you’re alright?”

“We’re just--” Germany floundered for a moment, but spoke again with a painful grin-- “full of holiday cheer.  How about a pastry?”

“Holiday cheer!” Prussia snorted, shaking his head. 

Japan did his best to ignore him.  “Just the tea, thank you,” he warily requested.

“Coming right up!” Italy announced, his face finally resuming its usual hue.  “When my big brother gets here, we’ll eat, and then we can open up presents!” 

Japan shifted uncomfortably, then.  “I am afraid I did not come prepared with gifts for anybody.”

“Hey, don’t worry about it,” said Italy, filling Japan’s teacup.  “It was really short notice, after all! Besides,” he grinned. “That just means we’ll have to have an even bigger party next year to make up for it!  You know, so you’ll get the full experience.”

“I will look forward to it, then,” said Japan, smiling as the warmth of his teacup spread through his fingertips into the rest of him.   

No sooner had Japan’s tea cooled to a drinkable temperature than Romano came bustling in.  He had an old pillowcase flung over his back, although what filled it, nobody was sure. In any case, it was lumpy.  Beyond that, Romano was still clad in pajamas not unlike those that still adorned Italy and Japan. For once, he seemed to be in a good mood.  “Merry Christmas!” he announced, dropping off his parcel by the door. The scent of his brother’s cooking brought a smile to his face. “You saved some for me, right?”

“Nope,” said Italy, deftly whittling away at a block of cheese.  “You’re too late. I’m giving yours to Prussia.” 

“Sounds good to me,” said Prussia. “Do I get his presents, too?” 

Romano rolled his eyes and joined Italy at the counter.  “Scoot over,” he said, bumping Italy with his hip. “You’re doing it wrong.  And you know what?” he teasingly added. “I think I’ll just give everyone’s presents to Japan this year.  How do you like that?” 

“Ah, please do not,” Japan politely requested, “I could never carry so many things home--”

“Hey, what did I do?” Germany cut in.

“I’m sure I’ll think of something,” Romano told him. 

An hour later found them fed and seated comfortably in Italy’s sitting room, in the center of which had been placed the closest thing to a Christmas tree that Italy could find in such short notice: a potted white lily whose leaves had been weighed down with a considerable number of colorful baubles.  Strewn about the heavy-laden plant were gifts in various stages of concealment. Germany and Prussia had neatly wrapped their parcels in newspaper. Italy, on the other hand, had had the time and foresight enough to wrap all of the things he had collected for his friends in brown paper and twine. Next to all of this loomed Romano’s lumpy pillowcase.

Italy was delighted.    

“Youngest goes first!” Italy declared, excitedly nudging Germany towards the makeshift tree.  “And for once, it’s not me!”

“Oh, alright, then,” said Germany.  He stooped to snatch up a gift the size of his fist from the pile and presented it to his brother, who unwrapped it in an instant.

“Gun polish!”  Prussia nodded at the little jar, quite pleased with his gift. “Can never have too much of this.”

“My thoughts exactly,” said Germany, already going for the next gift.  “Romano, this one’s for you.”

Romano’s eyebrows shot up.  “Really?” He hurriedly cleared his throat and said, “I mean, really, you shouldn’t have.  Let’s see what we have here…” He peeled away the paper to reveal a pair of gently-used gardening gloves.

“They’re practically new,” Germany told him, somewhat embarrassed at having had to dig through his storage closet for last-minute gifts.  “Do they fit you?”

“Like a fist in the eye,” Romano affirmed, flexing his fingers in one of the gloves.  “Thanks.”

“Right,” said Germany.  “Moving on, then. Italy, here you are,” he said, passing Italy a parcel that was nearly as small as the one he had given Prussia.

“Oh!  What’d I get?” Italy asked, eyes bright.  “What is it?”

“I believe you hold the answer, Italy,” Japan teased him.

“It’s fun to guess, though,” Italy laughed.  He gently shook the tiny package next to his ear.  “Um,” he hummed, “I hear something clicking. Is it… oh!  It must be a fancy lighter!”

Germany huffed a laugh.  “Not even close.”

“Maybe a cool necklace?”

“Veneziano, if you keep guessing, we’ll be here until next year,” Romano drawled.

“Okay, okay,” said Italy.  He screwed one eye shut, and—very carefully—he peeked under the paper and into the box.  “It’s… a watch!” Italy finally announced. 

“So maybe you’ll stop being late for things,” said Germany, smiling wryly as Italy fastened the watch around his wrist.  He scooped the last of his gifts off the pile. “Now, Japan—“

“This one’s from both of us!” Prussia interrupted.  He coughed. “Just so you know. It’s from me and him both.”

Germany rolled his eyes, but said nothing to refute Prussia’s words as he passed the gift to Japan.

Japan cautiously took the proffered parcel.  “Both of you,” he repeated, nodding as he examined his first ever Christmas gift.  “I will remember that.” As gingerly as he could, he pried the newspaper away.

“That jacket used to belong to me,” Germany began to explain before Japan was even sure what he was looking at.  “But I outgrew it a long time ago.”

“Yeah, and it belonged to me before that,” said Prussia with an air of fondness.  “Take good care of it, will you?”

Japan regarded the jacket with sudden reverence.  “I could never accept an heirloom such as this!” 

Germany shook his head.  “Please, there’s nothing special about that jacket.  You’ll be needing to keep warm on your journey home after what happened to your jacket, so please,” he reiterated.  “Take it.”

Japan nodded very seriously and said, “I will take the utmost care of it.  Thank you very much, both of you.” 

“You’re very welcome, Japan,” said Germany, resuming his seat on the couch.  “Think nothing of it.”

“Oh, it’s my turn now!” Italy realized, and he immediately hobbled towards the gift pile, plucked his four parcels from it, and passed them out before landing heavily back on the couch.  “There,” he sighed happily despite the throbbing in his leg. “Alright, I can’t pick who should open up first, so everyone’s going all at once,” he decided. “Go!”

The crinkling of paper filled the air, and was followed by exclamations of surprise and joy.

“What a lovely set of pens,” Japan marvelled.  “And you even thought to get me ink. Thank you very much, Italy.” 

“Hey,” Romano called out, “I thought you bought this scarf for yourself!”

“I almost did,” Italy laughed.  “But I think it suits you better.”

A chuckle from Prussia drew Italy’s attention, then.  “I didn’t think you’d remember that I journal,” said Prussia, splitting a smile between Italy and a leather-bound book.

Italy grinned right back.  “How could I forget? You used to carry one of those things with you everywhere.”

“Is this a journal, too?” Germany asked, holding up a similar book.  “It’s going to take me a decade to fill this.”

“No, no!” said Italy, “Open it up to the first page!”

Germany did so, and there on the page was a fully-inked drawing of a sprig of heliotropes, signed Feliciano Vargas.  “Ah, a sketchbook,” said Germany, somewhat distant as he admired the art laid out before him. Finally, he looked up and said, “In that case, give me a century, and by then I may have filled it.” 

Italy beamed at Germany and everyone else.  “Oh, I’m so happy you all like your presents,” he said.  “Shopping was hard this year!” 

A dry laugh escaped Romano as he said, “Yeah, a war will do that.”  He snatched up the lumpy pillowcase and added, “That’s why nobody’s gonna think twice about the presents I got for everyone.”  He reached deep into the pillowcase and started to pull out fistfuls of socks. He tossed two pairs at everyone in the room, and when he had finished this task, he unceremoniously wadded up the pillowcase and threw it to the floor.  “Merry Christmas, you jerks. Keep your feet warm.”

“Thank you, Mr. Romano,” said Japan, holding up a sock for closer inspection.  “Did you make these? They’re quite nice.”

Italy gasped, “Roma, you did, didn’t you?”

Romano flushed at the praise and attention.  “Maybe I did. So what? It’s not like it was hard.”

“It’s very fine craftsmanship,” Germany admitted.

Prussia was quick to add, “I needed some new socks, actually.  These look pretty sturdy. I’m impressed.”

“They’re just socks, damn it!” Romano huffed, now fully red. 

Prussia wheezed out a laugh.  “Well, I guess that makes it my turn, doesn’t it?” he said.  “Saved the best for last.”

“How did I know you would say that?” Germany sighed just seconds before he was pelted in the stomach by Prussia’s gift to him.  “Ow! What’s in here, a rock?”

“That didn’t hurt,” said Prussia, waving him off.  “Open it.”

When Germany did, he laughed.  “Soap,” he stated. “Wonderful.”

“Not just any soap!” Prussia told him.  He was grinning like a fool. “It’s scented!” 

Germany gave the bar a cursory sniff.  “Indeed it is. Very… floral. I’ll treasure it always.”

“Oh boy,” said Romano, a smirk playing at his lips.  “It doesn’t even matter what you got me and Italy at this point, does it?  Nothing can top that.”

“We’ll see about that.”  Prussia tossed Italy and Romano a pair of identical, rectangular parcels.  As they opened them, he said, “It was pretty hard to come by, but I figured the two of you could use something sweet.”

“Chocolate!” Italy exclaimed, clearly thrilled. “The good kind, too!” 

“Better than soap?” Prussia asked.

Romano shot him a grin and agreed, “Better than soap.”

“Thought so.  And Japan,” said Prussia, “You already got your gift from me, so, you know,” he sat back down with an air of finality.  “Merry Christmas, and all that.” He hadn’t expected Japan to want to participate in the holiday, and he was beginning to feel sheepish about that assumption.

Nevertheless, Japan shook his head, nearly overcome with emotion.  “Thank you very much. Everyone,” he said. “It pains me that I have nothing to offer any of you in return for these gracious gifts.  Please, be assured that at the soonest opportunity, I will repay you all.”

“I won’t complain if you decide to send me some stuff later,” said Romano, “but it’s not like you owe us, or anything.”

“Please, it would be my pleasure to return the favor,” Japan assured him.  “Especially since I must leave so soon. Really, though, the experience has been wonderful, and I am deeply grateful to all of you for including me in this.” 

Italy limped over to Japan and clasped his hands in his own.  “Thanks for being here. It really means a lot to me that you stayed,” he said.  “Be careful going home, okay?”

“I will,” Japan promised.  “Although I will admit, I do feel a little defenseless without my sword.  Still, I’m sure that everything will be alright. It is rare to come across fellow travelers on the paths of nations, after all.”

“We can lend you a gun,” said Prussia from where he stooped to tidy up the loose paper that had been scattered around Italy’s sitting room.  “We don’t have too many spares at the moment, but it’s better than going without.”

“Guns win knife fights every time,” Romano noted, likewise gathering up his own belongings.

“That may be true,” Japan grimly agreed, “but I wouldn’t want to further deplete your weapons supplies, and beyond that, I am confident that our enemies planned to avoid conflict on this day.” 

“You have a good point,” Germany hummed.  “Still, we cannot count on that. Be careful, Japan.  These are dangerous times.”

“Yes, and I am confident that I will live to see even more dangerous times follow them,” Japan answered him. “I must go.  But first, however,” he said, looking down at his pajama pants, “I will need my trousers.”

Italy’s sitting room had been put back in perfect order by the time Japan had changed clothes and everyone else had gathered their things into neat piles and packs.  At last, they said their farewells. Romano followed Japan out the door, promising to be back for dinner. Prussia went to leave soon thereafter, but before he stepped out the door, he pulled Italy aside to speak with him while Germany was busy cleaning up in the kitchen.

“West has another present for you,” he whispered.  There was a certain knowing in his smile. “Don’t let him forget to give it to you, alright?”  Before Italy had time to question him, he patted him on the back, wished him a Merry Christmas, and left.

This greatly piqued Italy’s curiosity, and so he took his crutches and went to see the last guest remaining in his house.

“You don’t have to wash all my dishes, you know,” Italy told Germany upon finding him hard at work in front of the sink.  When Germany gave no sign of stopping, Italy took up a rag and began to dry the cups and forks and plates his friends had used during their stay at his house.  “Your brother said you have another present for me.”

Germany nearly dropped a plate he was holding.  “Did he?” Germany asked, suddenly forgetting how to scrub dishes.

“Do you?” Italy pressed him.

Germany’s ears turned pink as he attempted to pour all his concentration into a particularly stubborn spot, rather than on Italy’s expectant grin.  It didn’t work. “I do,” he slowly confessed.

“What is it?” Italy insisted.  The dishes had been entirely forgotten in pursuit of this mystery.  When Germany stubbornly picked up another plate, he whined, “Ludwig!”

Germany was forced, then, to let out a sigh and dry off his hands.  “Alright, I’ll give it to you in just a moment,” he said. “But first, let me say that I couldn’t give this to you in front of the others because this isn’t exactly a Christmas present--I was going to give it to you eventually, when the time came, you see, so it wouldn’t have been appropriate to give it to you with everyone else’s things, and, well, it’s-- it’s special, you see-- erm, I wouldn’t say-- I mean, it’s--”

“Lud,” Italy repeated, thoroughly exasperated.  “What on earth is it?”

Germany’s face had taken on an incredible shade of red.  “It’s--” The words lodged themselves in his throat, so he closed his eyes and took a breath.  Finally, he reached up and pulled the cross he wore around his neck up and over his head. “It’s this,” he managed to say, gently placing the necklace around Italy’s neck.  “It is a symbol of-- of our bond,” he continued. “Of the trust we share.” He was certain he had meant to say more, but the way Italy was looking at him--with tears welling up in his eyes, as if he’d put the very stars in the sky--made him forget everything except the unfamiliar fluttering in his chest.

Italy’s crutches went crashing to the floor as he embraced Germany as fiercely as he could.  “Thank you,” he said, and then he pressed a kiss onto Germany’s cheek. When Germany finally caught up with the hug, he kissed his cheek again and laughed a teary laugh. “I don’t know what else to say, except thank you.”

Quite flustered, Germany found it difficult to find words, himself.  “You can promise me that you’ll take good care of it,” he slowly suggested.

“I will!” came Italy’s immediate response.

“If you break it or something, try to fix it,” Germany continued, pulling slightly away so that he could look at Italy more directly.  “I haven’t given you my only one, but it’s still important to me. It’s worth fixing.”

Italy nodded, and still, he smiled.  “Of course I’ll fix it! It’s important to me, too!”  At last, he looked away from Germany long enough to examine the necklace he’d been given.  “I hope I don’t break it in the first place, but knowing how clumsy I can be sometimes…” He laughed a little sheepishly.  “It’s not impossible, but whatever happens, I’m definitely not going to lose this!”

Germany huffed a laugh and shook his head.  “Now, Feli,” he said, turning back to the dishes.  “Don’t make promises you can’t keep.”

“What, you don’t believe me?” Italy asked, only half teasing.

“You lose your own house keys at least twice a week, and it would be silly to think an old necklace would be much different,” Germany told him.  “I believe that despite your best intentions, you lose track of things. The important thing, though, is that you always do your best to find them again.”  He extended a glass out to Italy for him to dry. “I wouldn’t have given it to you if I didn’t believe in you at least that much.”

Italy took the glass, although through the tears in his eyes, it became difficult to discern which parts needed drying.  He set the glass down and wiped at his eyes, instead. “Thanks, Lud,” he sniffled. “Really. And do you know what?”

“What?” Germany gently asked in return.

Italy picked up the glass he had set down, dried it, and moved on to the next dish before he answered, “I believe in you, too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> White lilies commonly symbolize death, purity, and/or purity after death, and we've already seen heliotropes before, haven't we?  
> Also, "It fits like a fist in the eye" is actually a Finnish saying, but it suits Romano pretty well, I think.  
> You're all wonderful, and don't you forget it.  
> UPDATE: The fantastic rinle has drawn fan art of one of the scenes in this chapter, and we are blown away. Find it here >>> https://pillowfortmedia.s3.amazonaws.com/posts/7d505b38109a_gerita%20cross%20resized.jpg


	24. Mo(u)rning Whiskey

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tags have been updated! Please tread lightly if you are easily troubled. We love you all very dearly.   
> Love,  
> Jay

It had been so easy.  For one thing, Japan’s house had been in the same place for as long as China could remember, and for another, Japan wasn’t even home to keep watch over it.  As dependable a watchman as Thailand was, he was still busy. So, it had taken China less than an hour’s wait before Thailand had gone home for the night.

It had been so very easy to slip inside Japan’s home without notice.  Quieting the guard dog that had met him at the door, however, had proven another matter entirely.

“So you’re still around, are you?” China asked the yipping little puff dancing irritably around his feet.  “What, are we not friends anymore?” China continued. Pochi only growled. “You can’t believe everything he tells you about me, you know.  I still give the best belly rubs,” he told him, crouching down. Pochi sniffed around him in a circle, and China had almost begun to hope he had quieted the little dog when Pochi discovered Japan’s sword on China’s hip.  The barking erupted twice as fierce as before, and China stood with a sigh. “Relax,” he said, kicking off his shoes by the door. “I’m just returning it.” 

Pochi stopped barking, then, but he continued to follow China around Japan’s house with a steady stream of growls rolling out of him.

“You’re lucky you’re cute,” China continued, in no particular hurry as he searched for Japan’s bedroom.  “If Kiku had brought home an ugly puppy, I would have said no in a heartbeat. And it was raining,” said China, absently examining Japan’s things.  He paused when he found a stack of mail and other papers on a table. “Let’s see if there’s any good news,” China muttered, picking through the first few items in the pile.  He frowned at the unfamiliar characters printed across one envelope. “I don’t know why I bothered,” he sighed. “I should have refused to teach you to write. Then you would have begged to know.  What made you keep these characters and throw away the others? And these squiggles you’ve added…” His lips pursed together, then, and he tried a little harder to remember what Japan had tried to tell him of his language a lifetime ago.

Pochi paced around his ankles, but China had long forgotten the dog in his search.  “Bills,” he muttered. “A newspaper… nothing useful in there. Propaganda, paperwork--oh, now, what’s this?  Today’s date in the corner, what have we here… Notice of Expansion for the Special Representative of the Empire of Japan,” he read, fully intrigued.  “Who’s land have you bitten into today? Let’s see, now--” His heart lurched as he found the words ‘Hong Kong’. “Oh, you poor boy. Someone’s taken you away yet again,” he sighed.  “I couldn’t protect you from England, and he couldn’t protect you, either, could he?”

Having seen enough, China put the papers back where he had found.  “I’ve spent enough time here,” he told Pochi, stepping around the dog.  Floorboards creaked beneath his bare feet as he crept through the house in search of Japan’s bedroom, and they abruptly quieted when he found the right door.  He gave the room a cursory examination before he unbelted Japan’s sword from his hip and laid it gently to rest on his pillow. This seemed to placate Pochi, who finally quit growling when China stepped back into the hall.

China chuckled at that.  “It’s funny that you’ve finally stopped putting up a fuss,” he said, making his way towards Japan’s kitchen.  “I’m just now getting to the thievery.” 

Ten minutes later, he was on his way with a basket strapped to his back which was filled to the brim with a little cloth, a scattering of dishes, and, for the most part, bundles and bundles of food.  The temptation to keep all of it for himself was strong, but then he thought of Russia, who quite possibly wouldn’t have enough to feed anyone, despite his promises. The decision had made itself by the time China had completed the short trip to his house from Japan’s.  He sorted out his bundle, stored away most of his prizes, and then packed away the rest of them for the journey to Russia’s house that he would take the next morning.

Until then, however, China needed rest, and so he took it.

***

It wasn’t Russia who opened the door for him when he knocked on his door on that snowy Christmas day, but a gaunt young man he didn’t entirely recognize.  The young man peeked cautiously around the door before relaxing considerably and pulling it the rest of the way open. Flanking him were both a young spectacled man and someone who appeared to China to be just out of boyhood--close to Hong Kong’s age, he imagined.  All three gentlemen were truly, undoubtedly skittish. “It’s good to see you, Mr. China,” said the first young man. “Mr. Russia told us to be expecting you! Please, come in!”

“I didn’t think he’d come,” the youngest of the three whispered, only to be shushed by the spectacled man.

“May I take your coat and bag?” the one by the door politely offered.

“I believe I’ll keep my coat,” China murmured as he entered the chilled gloom of Russia’s mansion.  He moved to pass off his bag before remembering, “Ah, there’s a parcel of food in here that I’ve brought as a gift.  Would you take care of that for me?”

“Certainly,” the man gratefully assured him.  He wasted no time in retrieving the parcel. The eyes of all three gentlemen shone with hunger when they saw it.  “Thank you very much, Mr. China,” said the man as he tucked the parcel under his arm and shouldered China’s bag. “I’m sure Mr. Russia will be very pleased by this.”

China hummed and took a moment to examine the faces that surrounded him.  Finally, recognition sparked inside him. “You three must be…”

“Oh, how rude of me,” said the one who had opened the door.  “I’m Lithuania, and that’s Estonia, and that’s Latvia,” he said, gesturing to each in turn.  They waved. “We work for Mr. Russia.”

“It’s a pleasure,” said China, wondering if he’d heard Russia correctly when he’d called the three his friends.  “He is home, isn’t he?” 

“Unfortunately,” Latvia sighed.

“What he means to say--” Estonia hurriedly added-- “Is that Mr. Russia isn’t in very good health at the moment, unfortunately, and he couldn’t meet you at the door.” He nodded and, for emphasis, repeated,  “Unfortunately.” 

“Of course,” Latvia dryly agreed.  “Lithuania can take you to Mr. Russia right away.”

“Wait, why do I have to do it?” Lithuania objected.

“Because you’re his favorite!” Latvia answered him.

“Sure, I’m his favorite,” said Lithuania.  “Definitely. His favorite to--” he glanced at China and cleared his throat.  “I was going to set the table.”

“You mean you haven’t done that already?” Latvia exclaimed, alarmed.

“We’ll all escort him to Mr. Russia,” Estonia decided, stepping between the other two.  “He’s always in a good mood when he gets guests, remember? It’ll be fine.” China looked between the three of them, his impatience drowned out by pure bewilderment.  Before he or anyone else could protest, Estonia led all them away with a, “Please, follow me.”

A static cold seemed to have settled itself into Russia’s halls. Despite the happy candles and garland lighting the way, and the many portraits lining the walls, there was an air of perpetual emptiness that made every step seem to echo long after it should have died away.  China pulled his coat tighter around himself and trailed after his three silent guides. 

They found Russia in his library.  It was as spacious a room as any other, containing rows of books, several lamps, and a handful of enticing nooks for reading.  In the center of the room was a cold fireplace, and above that hung a chipped, peeling painting of a field of sunflowers. Beneath the ragged painting sat Russia with his nose in a book.  He was seated in a wheelchair, and, to China’s concern, appeared to be sporting several new injuries.

“China!” he exclaimed through a blinding smile.  He folded his book in his lap and wheeled himself over to to his guest.  “You made it! And I see you’ve met my friends,” he said. “It is good when friends meet friends, don’t you think?  Oh--Lithuania, what are you holding?”

“Mr. China brought you some food as a gift,” he stammered, forcing a grin.

“How wonderful!” Russia beamed, genuinely delighted.  “Perhaps we won’t starve.”

China, however, was too preoccupied with Russia’s injuries to share in his glee.  “You look worse than you did yesterday,” he stated.

“Do I?” Russia asked with the air of someone who very clearly already knew the answer.

China frowned at him.  “What happened?”

The bright smile Russia had been wearing slid back into its frozen position on his face.  “My Bosses care very deeply for me,” he explained, and then he gestured towards his bandaged foot, wrappings stained dark from what China could only guess was a bullet wound.  “They gave me this as motivation to get more land, you see. So it will heal faster.” He grinned up at China. “Aren’t they considerate?”

Mounting horror raced down China’s spine as he attempted to process all that he was seeing and hearing.  Helplessly, he looked to his guides--in their eyes, however, he found only pleading. What they were asking of him, he had only the faintest, most awful notion.  He stared back at Russia. “Considerate,” he slowly repeated. “Yes, the things they consider are truly astounding.”

Russia giggled and abruptly turned his attention to his helpers.  “Everything is ready, yes?” he asked. “We wouldn’t want to leave our guest waiting to be fed.” 

The three of them trembled as he spoke, but before any of them could shake out an answer, China intervened.  “Actually, Russia,” he said, “I was wondering if I could have a while alone with you to discuss some important matters concerning the war.”

“You don’t have any Christmas spirit,” Russia sighed.  “Very well. My friends, we will be joining you in the dining room very soon,” he said, dismissing the others with a wave of his hand.  The next instant, they were lost to the mansion’s depths. “Now,” said Russia, gesturing to a cushioned chair that was tucked away by a table.  “Since I have my own chair, you may take that one. Whiskey?” 

China took the seat, and though it was comfortable, it didn’t prevent him from throwing Russia a disapproving frown at his other offer.  “It’s hardly even midday.” 

“That is true,” said Russia, wheeling himself closer to China.  “However, I do not know what types of things you wished to discuss with me.  Some discussions require more alcohol than others,” he told him. He drew a flask from his pocket, sipped from it, and repeated, “Whiskey?”

China leered tiredly at the flask before answering, ”Not right now.”

“Ah, so you will start with the unpleasant things and work your way to the least pleasant things,” said Russia, nodding.  He tucked the flask away. “I understand. Please, proceed. My ears are yours.”

“I could have good news, for all you know,” China huffed.

“People with good news do not hesitate when offered whiskey before noon,” Russia pointed out.

China glowered at the far wall for a long second before starting off with, “Leaving that island with America gave me a stomach ache.”  Russia waited patiently for him to work his way to the least pleasant things. “I have a rash on my side that won’t go away, and my hip hurts.  And do you know what? Japan even--” He paused as Russia wheeled himself to a desk in the corner of the room. “What are you doing?”

Wordlessly, Russia retrieved a glass from a drawer in the desk, set it before China, and filled it with a splash from his flask.  He smiled over at China, set his flask on the table, and asked, “You were saying?”

China was silent as he considered the glass and its contents and all he had to say.  His fingers reached out to nudge it away, but, quite by accident, he wound up bringing the whiskey to his lips and downing it all at once.  He shuddered.

“Better?” Russia prompted him.

“Hardly,” China drawled, setting the glass down with a dull thump.  “My people are being slaughtered,” he continued. Russia filled his cup again.  “They’re getting hungrier every day. They’re getting scareder.” He took another drink.  “There have been bombings, Russia.” Another sip. “It isn’t getting better. It won’t until thousands more have died.”

Russia tossed another splash into his glass.  “That has very little to do with Japan-- _ your _ Japan,” he corrected himself. 

“No,” China agreed, letting out a dull laugh.  “I’m not fool enough to believe that any of our kind wield much power in all this.  No, we’re just prisoners, aren’t we?” Again, he drank. “Prisoners to our people, to their thoughts, their beliefs, their desires.  I feel their fear. I feel everything for my people. But do you know what else I feel, Russia?” Silence answered him. “Hatred. They hate Japan.  Profoundly, they hate it-- and you know how the ‘it’s often turn into the ‘him’s for our kind--but I cannot hate him, Russia. I hate it-- Japan, the ‘it’.  The way it twists him. The way it twists all of us.” China stared into the table. “I don’t even hate our enemies. I don’t. I could, if I needed to, but I can't hate...”  He brought the glass to his lips several times over a heavy, heavy pause. He started again. “Japan has Hong Kong.” 

“That is not a loss on your part, though,” said Russia, sipping from his own flask now.  “When did you learn of this?”

“Last night,” China sighed.  “I broke into Japan’s house.”

“Ah,” said Russia, calmly taking another swig.  

The two of them listened to a clock tick from the corner until the whiskey was gone.

“For this-- this holiday feast,” China haltingly started.  “What’s the main course?”

Russia hummed.  “More alcohol, probably.”

Rather sluggishly, China smiled, and then he let loose a dearthy giggle.  “Then let’s not leave our friends waiting any longer,” he said, getting to his feet.  “I can push you. Do you want me to push you?”

“It really is Christmas,” said Russia, smiling dryly.  “Go ahead, then. Hurry though, before your drink catches up with you, and you start running me into walls.” 

“I may need more drink than what you’ve given me for that,” China assured him as he carefully steered him out of the library.  “Quite a lot more, perhaps.”

“My friend,” said Russia.  “That will not be a problem today.”

For the rest of the day, and long into the night, the drink flowed freely, and the woes freer.  The next morning when China stumbled home, he was almost surprised to feel the war still there, thrumming in his blood.

It was a terrifying sort of hopelessness-- no matter how ancient he became, every war he experienced seemed eternal, something he could never outlive.

In a way, he supposed he was right.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sunflowers can symbolize longevity and hope, among other things.  
> Substance abuse is a very serious issue, and if you or a loved one are struggling, please seek help, and know that you're not alone.  
> On a lighter note, I discovered recently that this fic has one of the highest numbers of comments of all Hetalia fics???? Wow?? Thank you all so much for being so supportive. It means the world to us.   
> Also, I bugged Kai about maybe writing a bonus fluffy chapter, to which she responded with a solid "Maybe", so. Do with that information what you will!


	25. The Passage of Time

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys are the best, most supportive readers, and I swear, Kai and I are the luckiest to have you guys. Thanks a billion, and enjoy!  
> ~Jay

“Ludwig!” Italy called out, poised outside Germany’s office window with a football tucked under his arm, just as he had begun to do every Tuesday when the weather was nice.  “Come play football with me!” he insisted. This, too, was part of the ritual. At the earliest sign of spring, Italy had made this request for the first time, and he wasn’t exactly shocked when Germany had been difficult to pry away from his paperwork.

“I don’t have time to play games, today, Feliciano,” Germany had wearily called back through the window, but after wasting five minutes arguing with Italy over the matter, he had decided it would likely serve them both best if he threw on some athletic clothes and bent to Italy’s request.

If Germany’s laughter and cheers upon scoring the winning goal of the game were any indication-- and, Italy had rightly assumed, they were-- Germany had enjoyed the exercise after all.  

As much fun as they were having, Italy wished Japan could join them.  Whenever he had called and asked if Japan might be coming over soon and if he wanted to play, Japan had only told him that he was unfortunately very busy--much too busy for football--but if Italy wished for a calm cup of tea with him, he might be able to squeeze him in, thank you very much for the offer, and good luck with that football match.

Italy had told Germany of this exchange after one of their matches.  Germany had laughed about it and told Italy that if Japan didn’t feel like playing, that was alright with him-- three players would be an odd match, anyway.

Naturally, Prussia had caught wind of their regular games and made himself the odd third in Japan’s stead.  Football with a trio wasn’t impossible, but it took them a few matches to set the rules to everyone’s satisfaction.  This accomplished, they found the game even more exciting than before. Prussia had made for a fearsome opponent until one day, he had declared himself referee, his bird the team mascot, and had begun to cheer from the sidelines.  Neither Italy nor Germany had dared question this choice of his. They knew his sickness had claimed his ability to catch his breath. It was best to let him keep his pride.

Romano had even popped in for a few games over the months.  Teaming up with Italy to beat Germany and Prussia had been intensely satisfying to him, for one thing, and although he would never admit it, he had enjoyed the games he had lost, too.

Italy hadn’t managed to drag Romano along with him to Germany’s house this particular day, although he’d tried.  Romano had said he felt like he might be coming down with a cold, and when Italy had then offered to stay and take care of him, he’d sent him out the door, saying that Spain had already promised to come annoy him, and that he could only tolerate so much dumbass in one day.  Italy had told him he loved him, too, and had gone on his merry way to Germany’s house. 

Today, however, Germany wasn’t answering him. 

“Ludwig?” Italy tried again, stepping around a clump of overgrown hollyhock to get to Germany’s office window.  “Are you in there?” Italy pressed his face against the glass and tried to peer through the gap between the curtains.  His eyes struggled to adjust to the gloom inside.

The first thing his eyes latched onto was that map Germany kept pinned up on the wall across from his desk.  It wasn´t the same map as it was when Italy had first found it, and yet it still filled his stomach with the same cold dread.  The lines had been drawn and redrawn and redrawn again, and yet the borders were nearly indiscernible beneath the haze of red pins that riddled the whole of the world.  

Italy decided to ignore it.  That had worked well enough for him over the past few months every time he had seen it through Germany’s window.  He hadn’t truly examined the thing in weeks. Looking at it made him queasy. It reminded him that Germany was still determined to make himself an empire, to spread himself far too thin.  It reminded Italy, too, of all the ways he had vainly attempted to change his mind. Football was much simpler—and far easier on Italy’s conscience—than seeking out fights he knew he couldn’t win in desperate hopes of prying Germany out of the machine that was grinding him to dust.

The map loomed.  Italy sent his eyes elsewhere.

Germany was seated at his desk, his back as rigid as a steel beam in the dull light of his lamp.  Italy tapped on the glass—still, Germany didn’t stir. He called his name and received no response.

Greatly concerned, Italy rounded the corner of the house and found the front door locked.  This worried him even more. Germany rarely locked his house in the middle of the day, especially not when he was in it.  It took Italy only a moment to remember the spare key he knew Germany kept hidden beneath a stepping stone in the garden, and when he had found it, he let himself in, reasoning that it couldn’t be considered breaking in if he had a key.

Italy found the house eerie despite the rays of sunlight falling in through the windows.  Nothing could be heard except Italy’s footsteps and the sound of clocks ticking away the years from their dustless corners.  Italy wasted no time shrugging through the silence to get to Germany’s office, and when he found the door cracked, he nudged it open and peered inside.

Germany had his head propped up on his fist, a pen clutched loosely in his fingers, a veritable mountain of work before him, and not a wink of alertness to be found beyond his resting eyelids.  “Hey,” said Italy, creeping cautiously towards him. He was answered by Germany’s light snoring. “Hey, Ludwig.” Germany shifted. “Lud. Wake up.”

Germany jerked fully awake, startling them both.  His hand had already found his pistol by the time he recognized the man recoiling in front of him.

“Don’t shoot!” Italy squealed, apparently attempting to hide himself behind his football.  “Don’t shoot! It’s just me!” 

Germany swore and sagged back into his chair, his heart thundering in his chest.  “I’ve told you not to sneak up on me like that, Feli,” he sighed. “What are you even doing here?  It’s the middle of the--” His brows pinched together in confusion as he noticed for the first time that the daylight was beginning to outshine his lamp.  “It’s the middle of the day,” he stated, bewildered. “When did that happen? I only closed my eyes for a minute.”

“I think you fell asleep, Lud,” Italy pointed out, cautiously lowering his makeshift shield.  “It kinda looks like you’ve been here all night.”

Germany ran a hand through his already disheveled hair and blearily examined his surroundings.  “It appears I have,” he concluded, nodding tiredly. He checked the time and cursed again. “This was supposed to be done already.”  Germany adjusted his reading glasses and hurriedly began leafing through his work. “He’s going to kill me,” he muttered.

“I hope you don’t mean that literally,” said Italy, frowning deeply.  “And who’s ‘he’? Your--”

“That bastard I work for, yes,” Germany grunted, doggedly sifting through his papers to find a particular few.  “And frankly, I wouldn’t put it past him, if I didn’t think he was already trying to kill me with all this.” He gestured vaguely with his pen at the disaster on his desk.  “Giving me three day’s notice to do this, knowing full well this sort of thing takes at least a week!” He angrily scribbled his name on a dotted line and pulled out another form.  “I’m sorry, Feliciano, but I don’t have time for sports today. Or anything else, for that matter.”

Italy watched him for a moment.  There was an empty coffee mug on his desk.  Dark rings along its interior from where it had been filled and refilled matched the ones beneath Germany’s eyes.  By the looks of it, Germany was also trying to grow a beard, but Italy felt it might not be the best time to ask him about that.  “When’s the last time you ate?” he asked instead. “It’s practically time for lunch,” he added before Germany could give him an answer he didn’t want to hear.  “Why don’t I make us something?” 

“I don’t have time to eat,” Germany sighed, finally looking up at Italy.  “I already told you, I was supposed to have this done by now. It’s--”

“Yeah, I heard you,” said Italy, suddenly stern.  “It’s late. That means it’s not going to make a difference if you take one extra hour to change your clothes and wash your face and eat some food.”

Germany’s shoulders sagged.  “Feli, I really need to--”

“Ludwig Beilschmidt,” Italy huffed.  “What would your brother say if he saw you like this?  It’s Tuesday. He’ll be here. Don’t think I won’t tell on you.”

“You’re just as bad as him,” Germany groaned.

“Evidently I need to be,” said Italy.  “Come on,” he said, turning out Germany’s lamp.  “Let’s go. I know you don’t want to worry Gilbert.”

Germany remained oddly quiet as he pushed himself to his feet with a grimace.  “Only an hour,” he told Italy. “I’m only taking an hour, and then I absolutely have to get this done.”

“You’re not going to get anything done if you let yourself rot!” Italy scolded him.

“I’m going!” said Germany, shuffling out the door.  “Give me a moment to get cleaned up, and then I’ll eat something.”

“That’s better,” said Italy.  He made himself at home in Germany’s kitchen while Germany collected himself.  

As soon as they had both eaten, Germany tried to excuse himself, but Italy wouldn’t have it.  “You said you’d take an hour,” he reminded him. “It’s only been forty minutes.” 

“What am I supposed to do for twenty minutes?” said Germany, incredulous that Italy would hold him back from his work.  

“Let’s just sit and talk!” Italy brightly suggested.  “We haven’t done that in forever.”

Germany let loose a resigned breath.  “Alright,” he said, settling down in his seat.  “So, what news is there from the North African front?”

“I don’t want to talk about the war,” Italy huffed.  “Besides, my Boss doesn’t tell me anything. You know that.”

“A newspaper would, if you would bother to pick one up.” 

“Someone’s cranky.”

“Yes, and I intend to remain that way for the next--” Germany glanced at his watch-- “Eighteen minutes and forty-seven seconds.”

Italy rolled his eyes.  “Why is it so important to you that you get this work done so soon?  It’s already late. You don’t even like your Boss.”

“How I feel on that matter has nothing to do with the fact that my work benefits my people.  It brings us closer to winning this war,” Germany explained. “Regardless of who is in charge, victory is the only option.  Every moment I spend indulging in pointless diversions drags me further from that end.”

“Pointless diversions,” Italy sourly repeated, “Like spending time with your friends?  With Gilbert? With me? Or do you mean pointless diversions like eating and sleeping and taking care of yourself?”  He stared tersely into Germany’s steely face. “What happened, Lud?” he asked more gently than his eyes allowed. “You weren’t like this last week.”

Germany wouldn’t look at him.  Italy began to wonder if they would spend the remainder of the time steeped in this thick silence when Germany finally spoke.

“My brother is dying, Feliciano,” he said.  Italy had never seen him so close to tears. “His health gets worse every day.  Last week, after you left, he collapsed. For a few seconds, he even stopped breathing, and--”  He stopped himself and closed his eyes. “The war has only been getting worse for us,” he continued, his voice stretched taut.  “If the war is lost, he is as well, and that is a future I will not accept. That is a future that I can’t--” He cleared his throat and looked away.  “I have to do everything I can for him. I owe him that.”

Oblivious to his own tears, Italy took Germany’s hands in his own.  “Ludwig,” he whispered. “Your brother has survived this long, and if anyone can survive losing this war, it’s him.”  Despite the pain and fear Italy could see lancing across Germany’s face, Italy kept speaking. “He’s strong, and so are his people.  Do you know what I think?”

Germany watched him, wary and tired, but curious nonetheless.

“As long as there is one Prussian heart still beating, he’ll stay alive, because it’s his job to represent his people, and if there’s one thing I know about your brother,” said Italy, smiling softly.  “If there’s one thing,” he repeated, “It’s that you and him are too much alike. He’ll never leave his work undone.”

Germany pulled his hand away and abruptly stood and turned away.  “I believe it’s about time I got back to my own job,” he said. His voice was strained, like he was forcing a lump down his throat.  Italy wondered if he was crying. Somehow, he couldn’t picture it.

“I’ll let you get back to it, then,” said Italy, subdued.  

When Prussia arrived a while later, Germany put aside his work and played the last football game they would share for a very, very long time. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hollyhock can be a symbol of tenacity and ambition. There was a bit of a time jump here, so if anyone is confused about the timeline, this chapter is set mid 1942. Let us know if you have any questions!  
> Chapters might be a touch slower in the upcoming weeks, partly because it's midterm season (if anyone has tips on learning Chinese, send help), and also because these next few chapters are extremely important, and we want to make sure to get them right.  
> You're all wonderful! Love yourselves!


	26. Lessons of Yesterday

“I can’t say it isn’t like him,” Italy sighed, curled up with some cushions on Japan’s tidy floor.  “Germany has always been concerned with his work, but I’m worried about him. I mean,” he continued, taking a lazy sip of his tea, “at least before, he would humor me when I went over, even if we didn’t play a match.  The weather’s getting colder again, so I guess it won’t really matter in a few weeks, anyway, but now—Kiku, it’s like he doesn’t even hear me, sometimes.”

“What do you mean by that?” Japan asked, shifting where he lounged near Italy.  Japan, at least, had been able to set aside the majority of his work for a day to host his friend’s visit.  Pochi, on the other hand, was revelling in all the extra attention he was getting from his best friend now that he wasn’t so busy working.  The dog dozed at Japan’s elbow. 

“He’s running himself ragged,” Italy sullenly stated, reaching idly for Pochi’s outstretched paw to poke at it.  “Every time I go to see him, he looks so-- so tired, Kiku. But if anything, he just works himself harder. That’s all he ever does, now.”

“You said he doesn’t hear you,” Japan reminded him.

Italy nodded and continued to fidget with Pochi’s paw until the dog withdrew it from his reach.  Italy sighed. “I try to talk to him,” he said, retracting his hand. “I really do. These days, it’s like… he’s going through the motions.  All he ever wants to talk about is the war, and at the same time, he hates talking about that, too, and when I try to talk about something else--I’ll say, ‘Hey, Germany--’ well, I call him by his name these days, but, you know.”  Japan nodded his understanding. “Anyway, I’ll say something like, ‘The weather sure is nice!’ or something, right? And he’ll just give me small talk and get all antsy like he feels like he’s doing something wrong.”

“Perhaps he does,” Japan suggested, absently scratching around Pochi’s fur.  “For me, even now, just this one day was difficult to set aside--not that your visit should require any less from me,” he assured his grateful guest.  “No, I think I can understand Germany’s behavior. There is so much left to be done, so many nations left to unite under the banner of my people--” Italy began to fidget anxiously with the cross around his neck.  It had become a nervous habit for him. “And yet this war is not going well for us, at present,” Japan continued. “I don’t believe I’ve ever felt so exhausted, but at the same time, there’s this hunger inside me somewhere that I can only ignore when I work.  If Germany feels the same way at all, I think I can understand his reluctance to step away from his desk.”

“It’s not reluctance, Japan!” Italy retorted.  “It’s obsession, plain and simple. I swear, if you’re getting like that too, I don’t know what I’m going to do with the two of you.”

Japan sat up, disturbing Pochi, and gave Italy a perplexed frown.  “You called me Japan,” he pointed out.

Italy blinked in surprise.  “Oh,” he muttered. “I’m sorry, Kiku.  I guess I’m tired, too.” He rolled over to stare at the ceiling and sighed.  “I still mean it, though. He doesn’t stop for anything, anymore. I miss when he would just take some time off and stress bake with me or--I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I even miss training!  Can you believe--”

From down the hall drifted the sound of coughing, muffled by blankets and walls.

Japan let out a long breath and pushed himself slowly to his feet, joints protesting loudly all the way.  “Excuse me,” he said, reaching for the kettle and a clean cup. “The boy needs his tea.”

“You don’t think I woke him up, do you?” Italy whispered, covering his mouth.  “I used to feel downright awful when people would fight over me. He needs his rest!  Has he been getting any better?”

“Just a moment, please, Feli,” Japan reiterated.

“Ah, sorry!” Italy whispered again.  “Sorry. I’ll wait.”

And wait he did as Japan trailed away, dog at his heels, into the quiet recesses of his home.  “Here, I brought you some tea,” he heard Japan say. There was a reply that Italy couldn’t quite discern.  “I don’t care. It will help you feel better,” said Japan, more terse than before.

Italy had just begun to wonder if Hong Kong had always been difficult to manage when he heard the boy tell Japan, “I hate you.”

“You really shouldn’t let the things China says color your opinion of me.”

“I don’t have to,” Hong Kong murmured, and then followed that up with a few muffled words that Italy was sure weren’t polite.  There was a long pause. Italy hoped that Hong Kong might be drinking his tea. He was almost certain he wasn’t.

“I’ve shown you nothing but kindness,” said Japan, tension underlying the evenness of his voice.  “I’ve even sent your letters to England--in spite of my leaders’ wishes, I'll remind you. For months now, I’ve taken care of you.  What more do you want?”

“I want--” Hong Kong croaked out a cough and had to start over.  “I want the people you slaughtered back.”

Italy found himself shrinking away from the scathing silence that followed, until Japan began to speak in a tone so low that Italy could barely hear him. 

“One day,” he said, “you will be old enough to separate your people’s feelings from your own.  Maybe then, when you have blood on your own hands, you won’t be so hasty to reject the stained hands offered to you.”

Hong Kong was beginning to tell Japan quite clearly what he thought of his bloody hands when a coughing fit came over him, and he was forced back into his sullen silence. 

Japan reappeared in the sitting room, even more haggard than he’d been when he’d left it.  Pochi did not accompany him. “Feliciano,” he sighed. “May I make a confession?”

“What is it?” Italy asked him, frowning up at him in concern.

Japan took another deep breath and settled down amidst the cushions, where he had been before.  “I think I’m beginning to fully understand the depths of China’s patience,” he breathed.

After a pause, Italy tilted his head and said, “I don’t get it.”

A defeated laugh pressed through Japan’s lips.  “What I mean,” he said, voice low, “is that I was exactly like that when I was a child--rebellious, vulgar, irreverent, and unshakably convinced that I was right,” he tiredly admitted.  “And now that I’m grown, being confronted with someone much the same as I used to be--” He glanced down the hallway as though to reassure himself that Hong Kong wasn’t listening. “--I can’t handle it.  I don’t think I was ever meant to be a caretaker.”

Italy rolled his necklace between his fingers as he considered this. “I have a hard time imagining you ever being vulgar, Kiku,” Italy started.  The corners of his eyes crinkled in amusement.

“It’s true,” Japan quietly affirmed.  “Why do you think I carry myself this way, now?”

“It makes sense,” said Italy, still grinning.  “I still don’t know if I believe you.” When Japan shook his head at his teasing, Italy sank once more into his thoughts.  “It might not be that you’re not cut out to be a caretaker,” he finally suggested. “Maybe you just weren't meant to be Hong Kong’s caretaker, in particular.  Not like this, anyway. He doesn’t exactly want to be here.”

“You’re right about that,” Japan sighed.  “He tells me every day how much he wants to go back-- to England, or to China, or to his people.  But he can’t. It’s far too dangerous, now. He could be held hostage, especially considering his condition.”

“You really think they would hurt him?”

“You don’t?” Japan countered.  “You don’t think they would hurt him, even after what they did to you?”  Phantom pain shot through Italy’s leg at the memory. “This is war,” Japan went on.  “You can trust none but your closest allies, and even then…” he trailed off and showed Italy a little smile.  “Ah, but I have friends. Not just allies.”

Italy smiled back at him.  “And friends always do what’s best for friends,” he said.  “Look, I’m not saying you need to send him back or anything.  I’m just saying that here isn’t where he wants to be. It might take him a long time to be happy here.  I know that’s how it was when I lived with Austria.”

“I understand that,” said Japan, nodding slowly.  “Although, as harsh as it may sound, his happiness is not necessary, just so long as he’s kept alive and secure.”

“Keeping him miserable isn’t going to help you, either,” Italy pointed out.  He let out a little hum of dissatisfaction and added, “You know, Kiku, you’re the only one he has to blame for all this.  It was your people that did this to him, sure, but all he can see right now is his pain, and you standing right there in the middle of it.”  There was a long silence as the two of them stared past each other, into the pensive air. “If you wanted me to,” Italy finally said. “I could take him to my house and watch--”

“He stays here.”

The fire in Japan’s eyes sent chills into Italy’s heart.  “Oh, um, right,” said Italy, shrinking away. “I was just thinking-- it looks like you could use a little help, is all,” he stammered.

Calm swept back over Japan as quickly as it had burned away.  “I will have help,” he assured Italy, leaning back into his cushions, sipping on his tea.  “I have requested a day nurse for the boy so that I can focus on my responsibilities more fully, and if his condition doesn’t improve after a while of that, he’ll be sent to live with my Boss, for safe keeping.”

Italy stared at Japan for a few concerned heartbeats.  “That’s-- That’s good,” he decided, nodding carefully. 

“More tea, Feliciano?”

“No thank you, um, I actually need to be going,” said Italy, drawing himself together.  “It’s a long walk home, and it’s no fun traveling in the dark,” he added with false laugh.

“Ah,” said Japan.  “Are you sure you do not want to stay the night?”

“I wouldn’t want to pull you away from your work,” Italy lied.  “Besides, I just remembered a few things I need to take care of tomorrow, so I don’t think I can stay.”  Something had unsettled itself inside of Italy, and he felt desperately that he needed to be away, to be alone, to think, to put himself once again at ease.  “Really though, Kiku, thank you for taking some time off for me.” He clasped one of Japan’s hands in his own and shook it. “It really means a lot.” 

Japan offered him a gracious smile and squeezed his hand in return.  “It was my pleasure,” he said, allowing the touch to linger for just a moment before he pulled away.  “Please be careful going home,” he told Italy. “You’ve been doing so well about staying out of trouble, lately.”

Guilt and unease twisted through Italy’s gut.  “I suppose I have, haven’t I?” he admitted, suddenly distant.

Japan gave him a peculiar look before he escorted him to the door with his usual barrage of well-wishes and pleasantries.  Italy returned them all with as much genuine delight as he could muster, but still, inside of him remained an incredible sense of wrongness that refused to be shaken away.

He waved goodbye to Japan and started to let his heart take him home, but when he heard Japan go back inside, he stopped, stepped off the path, and turned back towards the gardens around Japan’s home.  He wasn’t sure what drew him back--he even felt as though he were intruding, suddenly-- but his feet carried him to rest near a small pond.

Fish gathered silently below the water’s surface in a gently shimmering ball of golds and reds, undoubtedly expecting to be fed.  Italy knelt and offered them his finger to nibble on instead, although he wasn’t at all surprised when after a few tickles, the fish deigned him unworthy of their time and moved on to shimmer somewhere else.

He sighed, still crouching, and let his eyes follow the fish lazily around the pond until eventually, his gaze came back around to rest on a lonely lotus that floated close to the edge of the pond.

The bloom seemed to be giving way to the last days of its life.  Possibly, it only had hours left, and Italy took a moment to feel sad for the flower.  He knew it would likely bloom again one day--but then, he considered, it wouldn’t be the same flower the next time it bloomed.  The plant would bloom and wither and bloom and wither, until one day, it would simply cease to exist. It certainly wasn’t the only one of its kind.  There would be others to take its place after it exhausted its many lives.

It wasn’t fair, Italy thought, for such a beautiful thing to be as lonely as it was.

Italy promised the flower he would mourn for it when it had spent its little eternity.  Then, he stood, finally letting his heart take him home.

Japan had been right, he thought, facing the sinking sun.  It had been a good while since he had last gotten himself into trouble.  It had likewise been a very long time since his friends had been fully themselves.

The pursuit of victory was chipping away at the ones he held dearest, just as he knew and feared it would from the start, just as he had seen happen before.  Japan and Germany had worked night and day to fight the war. Italy, then, would have to be the one to work to finish it.

He would save his friends.  The war had already gone on for too long, and it was killing them.  Even if they won the war, Italy feared for the hunger that had appeared in them.  It was a hunger that wasn’t satisfied by victory, or by peace, but by conquest and power.  He had seen it before. He knew all too well where the path it created ended.

He wasn’t going to let it happen again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You all have seen lotuses before, a long, long time ago. They can be symbols of reincarnation, or the sun.  
> Congratulations! That's the end of the prologue!  
> No worries, that's (mostly) a joke. I got to dig up some stuff I wrote almost two years ago from the very first draft of chapter one. The story is getting to a very fun point where ideas that Kai and I have been sitting on for literal years are finally getting to see the light of day. I'm so, so excited.  
> For those of you concerned: I made a 99% on my Chinese midterm! Thank you to everyone who encouraged me!  
> In other news, Kai and I want to know what you all are doing for Halloween, if you dig that sort of thing. We're going as Sam and Frodo!  
> You all are the best audience we could ever ask for. Thanks for staying with us so far!  
> Love, Jay
> 
> Marching band is slowly killing me, but I have almost survived my final year. Homecoming is hell week for musicians. Lol. On a different note, I am literally the first person in line for next semester's registration because I have a butt-load of credit hours from two majors and a minor, music, and all of the extra tests and classes I took. I'm like a super-senior!! But alas, I'm a normal stressed senior with no superpowers. rip.  
> ~Kai


	27. A Sense of Duty

The phone slammed back onto the hook with a resound clack, and Germany, weary as he was, rubbed a hand down his face.  Italy needed his help. Again. Of course, Germany rose and quickly gathered his things, abandoning his unfinished work on his desk.

Not that he wanted to.  He wanted, more than anything, for whatever it was that had caused Italy to become so much of a handful to promptly go off and plague somebody else.  Preferably his enemies. 

There was no good reason why he should go help Italy now, he told himself, drawing up a path towards France.  His people had more or less subdued the place, with the exception of the riots and rebellions and street fires that happened with relative frequency.

On second thought, Germany considered, France may not be the safest place for Italy.  He began to jog. 

There was no good reason for Italy to be there in the first place, certainly not Paris.  There was nothing for him there, no conceivable reason for him to have gone, and further still no logical reason why he should be in danger.  And yet, he was. His call had been desperate. His calls were always desperate, even when they had no right to be.

Italy, Germany had decided, was truly, objectively, and entirely a terrible ally.  

And yet, Germany still found himself hurrying along with ever-increasing worry weighing on his brow.  He would always rescue Italy. This was a fact. Despite all reason telling him it was a useless endeavor, he would always protect Italy, when he could, and this fact disturbed him greatly.  Reason told him to let Italy learn his lesson. Reason told him that if the enemy captured Italy, it might actually allow him to get some work done, for once.

His heart, quite to the contrary, told him that Italy meant well, even if he was an awful ally--told him that allowing Italy to suffer for even a minute would leave the most irritating ache in his chest.  His heart was in fact quite sure when it told him that Feliciano Vargas didn’t deserve to suffer, and that he should do everything in his power to prevent that, regardless of the papers he had left on his desk.  His heart told him these things with a feeling that was faint, yet persistent; steadfastly warm, even buried amidst the anxiety and the hunger and the determination that had claimed him through the years of war, still there, still glowing, pleasant, enticing--

Distracting.

Whatever force that was pulling him to Italy’s side, beyond all reason, was beyond Germany’s ability or desire to name, and so he called it duty. 

That was the only acceptable motivator during a time of war, after all, and the war very much still raged.  He could feel it in the air as soon as his boots hit the street. Many of his people were already there--although the city and all the people in it would be his own, very soon--but he didn’t need to feel their tension to be able to sense it for himself.  Though there were no explosions anywhere nearby, no gunfire, no screams, Germany could see the war written across every face he scanned, lodged between the dread and the hatred and the resignation that came with it.

None of these faces were Italy’s, however, and so he ignored them.  

He found one of his people first, and he was very pleased by the efficiency with which the soldier gave him directions to the old cathedral within which Italy had apparently found his latest peril.  Once he had located the cathedral, he was instantly assured that he had come to the right place; Italy’s shouts and yelps tumbled down a set of stairs, accompanied by someone else’s furious speech and an excess of banging clamor.

Germany allowed himself a deep sigh before he followed the noise up the stairs into the chaos of the bell tower.

“I’m not going to hurt him, I swear!” he heard Italy shout.

There was a thunderous clatter.  “You’re right!” said Italy’s assailant.  Now that he was in the stairwell, Germany could identify the owner of the voice as being France himself.  “You’re not going to hurt him, because you’re not going to take him!” France yelled.

“You’ll get him back, I promise!”  Germany wondered who in the world Italy could be talking about.  “Come on, Francis, I just need--”

“Don’t you ‘Francis’ me!” 

Another clang was followed by a sharp yelp from Italy, and then something that sounded to Germany like someone’s attempts at knocking down a wire fence with a feather duster.

“I’m sorry!  I’m sorry! Please stop--” Italy yelped again as another series of bangs ricocheted down the stairs.  “Stop throwing things!” 

“Let him go and I might!” 

“You're scaring him!”

Nothing could have prepared Germany for the scene into which he poked his head when he at last crested the stairs.  The belfry was bedlam composed of dusty church detritus and overturned boxes that had once been filled with said detritus.  Tarnished censers and peeling paintings and ancient candlesticks created a garden of disarray in the center of which stood France and Italy, posed like a renaissance painting in the golden, dusty sunlight that filtered into the tower through the gaps in the boarded-up windows. 

On one side of a pile of rubble crouched Italy--disheveled, but otherwise unharmed--cowering behind a terrified pigeon he held captive in a wire bird cage that he clutched desperately in his white hands.  Towering over him in all his righteous fury was France, wielding a candlestick holder like a sword that was ready to take off Italy’s head. The heavenly glow of the sunlight in his untamed hair nearly hid the fact that he was filthy, unshaven, and dressed with all the elegance of an ailing sewer rat.  France’s most striking feature, however, was the crazed glare which he had pointed directly at Germany.

“You!” France snarled.

“Germany!” Italy rejoiced.

“How dare you show your face here, after what your monstrous children have done to my beautiful city--” Italy attempted to scoot away, but France stopped him with a firm, “I’m not finished!  Do you know how long I’ve been forced to hide my face?” he demanded, whirling back on Germany. “I’ve even had to resort to living in the sewers-- the sewers, do you hear me?-- to avoid your rotten little soldiers recognizing me--”

“I don’t think they would, France,” Italy quavered.  “I mean, you look more like a lunatic now than I think you ever did--”

“Shut your mouth!” France shot back.  “Just when I think I’ve found a refuge that doesn’t smell to high heavens, you come to harass me here, in my sanctuary, and try to steal Pierre away from me!  Have you no honor?”

“I’m just borrowing him!” Italy desperately insisted.  “Honest, you’ll get him back!”

“Oh, and I suppose you just so happened to find me here, of all places, looking for pigeons,” France bit out.  “Is that it? Is that right? It was all just a silly coincidence that you had to come here and lead Germany himself to my hiding place!  Is that what I’m to believe?” 

“Yes, exactly!”

Germany had never been one to turn away from conflict, but he had never been so tempted to turn around and leave than he was right then.  He didn’t understand why Italy so desperately felt the need to abscond with a French pigeon. He wasn’t even sure he wanted to know. The depths of Italy’s rationale were a terrain that Germany had only just begun to fathom, even after years of trying.  Nevertheless, he pushed through the soul-crushing weariness he felt and said, “France, things will go much better for you if you just give Italy the bird.”

In hindsight, Germany considered that he should have expected the rude gesture that followed.

“Why don’t you just go hole up with one of your allies?” Germany huffed, exasperated with the whole situation.

“They might not want to let him in, now that he smells like a Parisian sewer,” Italy suggested.  “Really, Germany, think about this--”

“I’m not leaving!” France obstinately answered.  “I’m not leaving my people until they’re free from this madness!”

A headache was worming its way behind Germany’s temples.  “Let Italy have the damned bird,” he gritted out. “Italy, we’re leaving.”  When Italy didn’t move, he added a rather sharp, “Now.” 

“Good riddance,” France muttered, tossing his candlestick holder to the side in defeat.  “Get out of my city. Heartless tool that you are…” 

Italy slunk to Germany’s side, bird cage in hand, just as Germany decided to add, “What good is heart in a war, anyway?  I would have saved valuable time had I simply shot you from the start.” He turned towards the stairs and took Italy by the arm.  “Try to stop us, and I might correct my mistake. Oh, and one last thing,” he said, throwing a glance over his shoulder. “I wouldn’t recommend that you be here, still, when my soldiers come to arrest you.”

“Go to hell, Germany.” 

“After you.” 

Italy kept all his apologies and placating words to himself until Germany had escorted him out of the church, and he waited still longer until after Germany had tipped off his soldiers to France’s presence and conjured up a path towards home before he cautiously spoke.  “Thanks for saving me, Lud,” he began. “This was, um,” he cleared his throat. “It was a really important mission, you know.” 

“I should hope so,” Germany sighed, keeping his eyes focused straight ahead.  “Dare I ask?” 

“My Boss sent me to get a pigeon because we’re thinking about trying some new things.  You know, bombs. Chemical warfare. That stuff,” Italy readily supplied, trying very hard to look as earnestly enthusiastic about chemical warfare as he expected Germany might be.  When Germany only gave him a tired, slightly bewildered look, he helpfully added, “With the pigeons.” 

“And it had to be a French pigeon,” Germany skeptically prompted him.

“Right!  It has to be able to fly back to Paris with whatever we make it hold!” Italy informed him.

“You’re going to attach bombs to pigeons?” said Germany.  “That’s--” He huffed and shook his head. “That’s not actually the least sane thing I’ve heard through all the war, but really, it’s on the list.” 

Unperturbed, Italy hoisted up the birdcage to eye-level and peered inside.  The pigeon anxiously flapped its wings and pecked at Italy’s fingers, which caused Italy to fumble with the cage and hiss, “That hurt!  Bad birdy!”

“In all fairness,” said Germany, “you are kidnapping it.”

“I’m borrowing him!” Italy reminded him.  “And I’m not going to hurt him, either—Which is more than I can say for you, Mr. Pierre!”

The bird cooed and shuffled to the other side of its cage, unconvinced.

Germany shook his head at the exchange and continued his brisk walk down the path, his mind marching off ahead of him to the tasks he had left at home.

On the other hand, with the sunset at their backs and golden scenery all around, Italy lagged behind.  It took five attempts at matching Germany’s pace before he finally said, “Can’t you slow down?” 

“I’ll slow down when you learn not to make me come rescue you,” Germany matter-of-factly replied.

“That’s a lie,” Italy huffed.  “You don’t slow down when I’m safe and sound at home, either.”

“Then allow me to rephrase,” said Germany.  “I’ll slow down when I’m dead.” He thought about this for a moment longer before he added, “Maybe.  I can’t be sure there won’t be work for me in the afterlife, too.”

Somehow, Italy didn’t find the humor in his plans.  He looked to the horizon, which was beginning to bruise in shades of purple and blue, and to the vast fields on either side of the road.  The first seeds of night had already begun sprouting behind every hill and plant, tendrils of shadow reaching away from the sun, silently combing through the grasslands towards Germany.  

There were no flowers there.

Italy cleared his throat.  The quiet was bothering him.  “Ludwig,” he began, “do you remember, about a year ago?  I think we were walking back from Greece.” 

“I’m not sure,” said Germany, frowning in contemplation.

“We made flower crowns,” Italy reminded him.  “It was the first time you invited me to your house.”

“That day!” Germany exclaimed, realization lighting up his face.  “Yes, that— I believe we remember it differently, though.”

“How do you mean?”

“I never made a flower crown,” Germany told him.  “That was all you. And, if my memory serves, you invited yourself.”

“Did I?” Italy laughed.  “Well, it wasn’t a bad idea, was it?” 

“Ask me again in a few years, and I’ll get back to you on that,” said Germany.

Italy smiled a little brighter.  “Since when are you the type to take your time?”

“When the situation calls for it,” said Germany, simply.

On a whim, Italy slipped his free hand into Germany’s.

“What’s that for?” Germany asked, still keeping up his swift pace.

“So you don’t go running off without me,” Italy answered him.  “I think you’re a little different than you used to be.” 

Germany passed him an odd glance.  “You say the strangest things. Do you know that?”

“I’m serious!” Italy exclaimed, squeezing Germany’s hand a little tighter.  “You don’t take care of yourself like you used to—“

“Feliciano, I don’t believe I could tolerate having this conversation again—“

“Listen!” Italy insisted, and Germany did.  “I’m saying that there used to be things you cared about, like training your dogs, and trying to improve your sketches, and—I don’t know, just—just doing regular people stuff, like baking or doing exercise and then telling me how much I should be doing exercise!”  He let out a short, sad breath and said, “It’s still the same war, but you’re not the same you, Lud, and I’m worried about you.” 

Germany was quiet for a long while, the only indication he’d heard Italy the intermittent fidgeting of his fingers in Italy’s hand.  “You’ve changed, too,” he finally said.

“What?  No I—“

“You have,” Germany reiterated.  “It’s not a bad change. Even if you think I’ve changed for the worse, I don’t think you’ve—“ He pursed his lips together and tried again.  “You used to be ready to run away from, well, everything. Now, though, I can hardly go a week without having to pull you away from some fight or another.  And you’ve gotten better at managing yourself in those conflicts,” Germany added. He didn’t mention that he thought Italy had stopped laughing as much as he used to.  In fact, Italy didn’t seem to cry as much as he had in the past, either. “You’ve gotten braver,” Germany decided to say. 

“If you say so,” Italy hummed.  He watched in brief silence as the first stars of night peeked out through the looming night.  “If I really have gotten braver though,” he said, “I think it’s because I finally know what I’m fighting for.” 

“And what’s that?” 

“We’re both trying to finish the war, aren’t we?”

“You say that as if that hasn’t been the plan from the start,” Germany stated.  

Italy remained quiet except to say, “Can I stay at your place tonight?” 

Crickets filled the time it took Germany to decide, “You can stay as long as you don’t cause any more trouble with that pigeon.” 

Italy huffed a dry laugh and said, “I can’t make any promises there, Captain.” 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Pigeon Project was an actual thing during World War II, except it was an American thing. B. F. Skinner was a wild guy.  
> In honor of NaNoWriMo, I'm going to be setting myself a goal to write every day this month. We'll see how that goes. Kai even wants to write. It's going to be brilliant.  
> In other news, Kai and I were toying around with the idea of a livestream, just to get to know you guys better and chat about hetalia or whatever strikes our fancies. Thoughts on that would be much appreciated!  
> 


	28. The Things We Make

“Listen up, troops!”

Italy paced up and down the line his apron-clad friends had formed in his kitchen, holding his head high, and his whisk higher.

“Today, the enemy is hunger,” he announced, turning sharply on his heel.  “These utensils you see here are your weapons--your aprons, your armor!” Romano rolled his eyes from the corner of the room, but Prussia, Japan, and Germany were still giving Italy their full attention.  It was only partially out of amusement. “These new rations,” Italy very seriously continued, “have been specially formulated to make our troops stronger, faster, smarter, give them enhanced vision, the ability to predict the future--”

“That is exceedingly impressive,” Japan skeptically interrupted him.

“Okay, those last couple of things might be kind of a stretch,” Italy confessed.  “But we want to spread rumors to have those Allies quaking in their combat boots, right?  They’ll run away screaming once they hear we have superfood on our side!”

“They’ve got England’s cooking,” Romano called over.  “I don’t think food can scare them anymore, at this point.”

Prussia wheezed out a laugh, but Germany only shook his head and said, “You were telling us about the benefits of these new rations.”

“Oh, right!” said Italy.  “They’re super nutritious, is my point, and the recipe is pretty simple, but the best part is, they’re delicious!” 

“If it’s such a simple recipe,” said Germany, crossing his arms, “why not just write it down and give it to us instead of gathering us all here?  It would have saved time.”

Japan had wondered the same thing--though he had felt it too rude to ask--and he peeked down the line curiously as Italy stalked up to Germany with an answer.

“I told you, it’s more efficient this way!  And I know how much you like efficiency,” said Italy, poking Germany in the chest with his whisk.  That earned him a frown, but Germany couldn’t seem to make his disapproval reach his eyes. “It’ll be better for everyone if I can just show you how to make it now, and we can get all the questions and stuff out of the way, and then you can go off and keep rotting at your desk like normal,” Italy teased. 

“Damn, you’re not pulling any punches today,” Prussia rasped, grinning widely.  He turned to his brother and added, “Are you really gonna take that? I thought for sure you wore the pants--”

“What’s the first step?” Germany suddenly demanded.

“I’m so glad you asked!” said Italy, not skipping a beat.  “First, you gather your ingredients! But since this is my house, I’ll do that part for you,” he added with a firm nod.  Then, he turned to his cabinets. “Let’s see… we need sugar, salt, flour…” He passed each item off as he named it to the nearest individual, which happened to be Japan.  By the time Italy had pulled out those ingredients and many more, nobody’s arms were empty. “--and water,” Italy concluded. “But we can get that from the sink!”

“I thought you said this was a simple recipe,” said Japan, disgruntledly shifting the sack of flour in his arms.

“It is, though,” Italy told him, scratching his head.  Romano stifled a laugh. 

“You said it’s supposed to be delicious, too,” Prussia joined in, “but I can’t think of a single combination of flour and beans that ends well.”  He unceremoniously dropped the offending ingredients on the counter, which encouraged Japan and Germany to do the same.

“You’ll see,” Italy assured him, dusting off his hands.  “You guys just have to trust me on this.”

“You know we do,” Germany sighed.  “God help us, we trust you.” 

At that, Italy swooped in to give him a peck on the cheek, dropped the whisk in his hands, and said, “Well then, let’s get cooking!” 

He began the lesson by divvying up the ingredients between everyone, taking care to measure each portion, reminding them that they really should be using the finest ingredients if they could help it—and by that, he meant Italian ones—and assuring them that yes, they really did need that much olive oil.  More than that, actually. That might be too much, Japan, but it’s probably fine, and making the bean paste should be easier for you, don’t worry.

It took Italy a solid ten minutes to convince Germany and Prussia that bean paste wouldn’t actively kill their troops, and ten minutes more to show them how to actually make it.  When it came time to add the flour, a fine layer of it was inescapably launched into the air when Japan sneezed. He started to apologize, but was startled out of it when Prussia threw a puff of flour at him.  A full-blown flour war was narrowly avoided, due in part to the fact that Japan was too bewildered to fight back--the other factors being Germany’s glare and Italy having already gone four steps ahead of his students.  

Romano chimed in with more than his fair share of comments throughout the whole process.  Naturally, Germany was doing it wrong—whatever it was— and he was sure that Italy had skipped a step, although he couldn’t remember which one.  By the latter portion of the lesson, Romano had donned an apron and appointed himself co-leader for the day, helping out here and there when he noticed one of the others defiling the kitchen with bad cooking technique.

He resigned from this position of authority as soon as the ration bars made it into the oven and it came time to clean up the kitchen, at which point he reminded everyone that it wasn’t his cooking lesson, and that he was not, therefore, obligated to help with the cleanup.  

Germany was quick to remind him of the incident that had occurred ten minutes beforehand, when Romano had very explicitly told Italy that he would be taking over from then on, and to let him handle things, because clearly they were lost without him. 

Romano briefly considered denying this claim before he instead promoted himself to chief supervisor of kitchen cleanup and told Germany to get to work before he booted him out. 

In spite of all that, cleaning the kitchen and their clothes of stray flour and batter didn’t take very long, and it took all of Italy’s patience and a little help from his friends to wait until the ration bars had fully cooked and cooled before taste-testing them.  He started by breaking off a piece of his own creation, chewing it slowly and carefully, and nodding his approval. “Oh, yes, this is exactly how the recipe was supposed to turn out. Just the right texture, sweet, yet savory—quick, try this first,” he instructed, breaking off pieces for his friends to try.  “That’s how it’s supposed to taste.”

There were a few seconds of quiet, filled by the muffled sounds of chewing and thinking, before the praise began.  

“Oh, wow,” said Prussia around his mouthful.  He swallowed. “Okay, I’ll admit it. That’s way better than I thought it would taste.”

“I can’t even taste the beans,” Germany noted, equally impressed.  “Well done.” 

“This is very good,” Japan agreed.  “I just hope—let’s see…” Curiously, he snapped the corner off the ration bar he had prepared and popped it into his mouth.  “...Ah,“ he noted after a beat. “It’s not quite the same.” 

“Hey, that’s alright!” Italy assured him, taking a piece for himself.  He thoughtfully chewed it up before adding, “You should use more sugar, next time, and then it should be better.  Still, not bad for a first try!” 

“Thank you,” said Japan, nodding graciously.  “Excuse me, Germany, may I try yours? I want to compare it to mine.”

“Go right ahead, as long as I can try yours,” Germany answered him.  “You’ll have to tell me how it tastes. I haven’t tried it yet.”

“Very well, then.”

Prussia took a bite out of his own ration bar and watched with glittering eyes as Germany and Japan swapped theirs.

“This isn’t bad, Japan,” said Germany, satisfied with the taste.  “Like Italy said, just a little more sugar, and…” He trailed off as Japan’s face slowly contorted into something resembling barely-contained disgust.  “Is it really that bad?” 

“No,” Japan forced himself to say.  “The flavor is,” he swallowed, shivering slightly, frowning deeply.  “The flavor is interesting.”

Prussia had already begun to cackle.  “Interesting, huh?”

Italy screwed up his face and asked, “What did you even do to it, Germany?”

Germany floundered to come up with an answer, but he was cut short by a loud snort from Romano before he found one.

“My God,” Romano cackled.  “Japan, your face!”

“I am merely impressed,” Japan shakily insisted.  He seemed to be engaged in a fierce battle with the urge to spit up the rest of the bite he’d taken of Germany’s ration bar, and furthermore appeared to be on the losing side. 

“It’s awful, isn’t it?” Germany lamented, shock and disappointment clear on his face.  He hesitantly took a bite of his own ration bar in a desperate attempt to figure out what had gone so wrong, and immediately spit it back out, cursed, and said, “It’s—It’s terrible!”

“Oh, thank God,” Japan muttered shortly before rushing to rinse the awful taste from his mouth.

Bewildered, Italy tried it, too, and was likewise overtaken by the strong urge to gag.

By this point, Romano was bowled over with laughter, and Prussia wasn’t too far behind him.  “Wow, West!” Prussia cackled. “I thought you were the baker, here.”

“You did something!” Germany fired back at him.

“What,” Prussia snickered, “can’t you take a little criticism?”

“Don’t try to deny it!” Germany huffed.  “I don’t know what it was, but you--you’re having far too much fun over there to be innocent!”

“Maybe this—“ Prussia had to stop and catch his breath through his giggles.  “Maybe this can be a learning experience for you, West. Something to keep you humble.”

The irony of Prussia giving a lesson on humility was not at all lost on Romano, who was by this point slumped against the wall in his laughter.

“Whatever happened, it was a sin!” Italy called over from where he and Japan were rinsing out their mouths at the sink.  “That thing you made is unholy!” Short laughs began to mingle in with his coughs as he added, “Repent!”

A flustered red had made its home on Germany’s cheeks.

“Your  _ faces _ —“ Romano wheezed.

Now that the taste had gone from his mouth, even Japan had begun to giggle in spite of himself.  “Really, how did you manage to—“ he paused to giggle a moment— “to mess it up that badly?” 

“I don’t know!” Germany desperately insisted.  “I followed all the steps exactly as Italy told us!”

”I promise you didn’t!” Italy quickly assured him. 

Earnest laughs were bubbling out of Prussia, now, and it took him quite an effort to say, “It’s possible,” he began, “that I might have—you know, just maybe—“    

Germany glared.  “Spit it out!”

“I wish I had sooner,” Japan muttered, earning him a genuine snort of laughter from Italy.  

Prussia grinned like a wolf when he finally confessed, “I may have switched the salt and sugar on you, little brother.” 

Germany groaned and buried his face in his hands.  “Someone swapped the salt and sugar making you.” 

“Don’t compare me to your failed pastries!”

“How did yours even turn out?”

“Ah, changing the subject, I see.” 

“Give me that!” Germany huffed, snatching up Prussia’s ration bar for a taste.  He immediately spat it out and declared, “Unsalvageable. I wouldn’t eat that if it were the last thing on earth.  It tastes like dirt. No--I’ve had better dirt, it tastes like--”

“Not bad,” Italy interjected, chewing on his own stolen corner of Prussia’s work.  

Germany put on his best scowl and scoffed, “Traitor.”

“I believe I must side with Italy, here,” said Japan.

“Me too,” said Prussia, grinning widely.  “I don’t think West is gonna let me on his team.”

“Well maybe we don’t want you on ours, either!” Romano called over.  “Not if you’re gonna go swapping the ingredients on us!”

“It might actually improve—“

“Don’t you dare finish that fucking sentence.”

“I think he might if he could stop laughing.” 

“Hubris.”

The teasing and laughter went on for a short while before Germany wiped a tear of mirth from his eye, took a look around, and asked, “How long has Italy been gone?”

“I saw him slip out a minute ago,” Japan admitted.  “It may have been my imagination, but he looked a touch ill.  Perhaps your masterpiece did odd things to his stomach,” he wryly added, bringing forth a new onslaught of teasing.

When several more minutes passed without Italy’s return, Romano huffed out, “He probably got distracted with that new pigeon of his or something.  I’ll go check on him.” The others hummed their assent, and Romano began his search.

He was more concerned than relieved when he found Italy sitting on the edge of his bed, staring blankly at the necklace Germany had given him.

Romano saw this, and he knew.

It broke his heart.

He pushed out a weary breath and sat down next to his brother.  Italy didn’t even look up. “Veneziano,” he said. “I know what all this is about.”

“Do you?” Italy asked, words desolate.

“I’m not stupid,” Romano told him.  “Suddenly you’re inviting all of them over, passing off that recipe like it was important—“

“It is important!” Italy insisted, finally looking up. There was pleading in his eyes.  “It’s important that everyone—all our people, you know, and theirs, and—it’s really important that everyone has good food to eat, so that they have energy to—to sing, and dance, and just— to be people—“

“And to fight this war you keep wanting to pretend isn’t happening.” 

Italy made no move to wipe away his tears.  He only looked back down at the necklace clutched in his hands.

“You have to tell them, Veneziano.”

Italy had never heard his brother’s voice so gentle, and yet he had never heard words so painful.

“You have to tell them.  It’s only a matter of days—“

“I know.”

From down the hall drifted the voices of their friends.  “You can cry later,” said Romano. He forced his own tears back.  “Right now, though, you have people waiting on you.” 

“Yeah,” Italy sniffled.  “I know.” 

Neither of them moved. 

“I’m scared,” Italy whispered.

“You have to tell them,” Romano quietly repeated.  “I know things between us haven’t always been—great, or whatever—but I’m still your big brother, damn it, and—“ He angrily wiped at his eyes with the back of his hands.  “Damn it,” he sighed. “I wasn’t going to cry today.”

“Me either,” said Italy, choking out a wet laugh.  “I promised myself I wouldn’t, because this might be the last time we--I don’t want them to see me like this.”

“Well, cut it out, then,” said Romano with a stern sniffle.  “We have a party to get back to.” He moved to stand, but Italy trapped him in a hug.

“Thank you,” Italy whispered.

“Get off me,” Romano half-heartedly grumbled.

Although Romano made no effort to escape, Italy quickly released him.  When Italy pulled away, he wore the same bright smile as always, and Romano had to wonder where he found the strength to wear a smile like that.

“Come on,” said Italy, pulling his brother to his feet with him as he stood.  “Let’s get back before people start worrying.” 

“Eh, don’t worry about that,” said Romano.  “Japan already thinks Germany’s cooking made you sick.”

Italy huffed a laugh at that and said, “That’s not even a lie.” 

Romano laughed, too, then.  When Italy started for the door, however, he said, “You’re going to tell them, aren’t you?”

Italy stopped, and, very slowly, he nodded.  “Not today,” he said. “But soon.” He sighed, weary, resigned, determined.  “Soon.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's no flower in this chapter but there is flour, which represents fleeting purity and friendship obtained through hard effort and sifting--  
> I'm totally making that up. "Sometimes, a cigar is just a cigar," and all that. Bonus points if you can tell me who (allegedly) said that without googling it.  
> If you're a little confused about things, don't worry. All will be revealed in time, as long as you don't look at the spoilers in your history textbooks. Feel free to ask questions, though! I can't guarantee a straight answer.   
> We've decided that if we do a livestream, it will be after chapter 31 gets posted (ie the end of Part 1 (holy freakin' crap) if nothing gets shifted around) which will probably be sometime during the last week of November.   
> Kai is a bit busy at the moment, so I've been tasked with letting you all know that her entire future hinges on a 5 hour long test she took earlier this week, and that she has high, high hopes. She also wanted me to include a few strings of text she typed with her foot a few days ago, claiming them as her contributions to this chapter. Here they are:  
> edfrxcccdn fgtjmnm  
> thkihikt  
> djakf;dsafAllOfYouAreAmazingAndWeLoveYouSoMuchkdla;jfdkas


	29. Folly of the Soft Heart

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As a heads-up, this chapter is a two for one special, twice as long as normal! Enjoy!

Thoughts were heavy, but Pierre was only capable of carrying letters.  Italy didn’t think it right or reasonable to burden the little pigeon with all the drafts he’d worked out, and he was certain that if he gave him even an ounce of his worries, the bird might never fly again.  Scattered all around his desk were crumpled balls of would-be letters, some of them only bearing a word or two.

Words had always come easily to Italy, but for the past few hours, he’d struggled to find a way to spill his heart out through his pen in a way he thought the letter’s recipient might understand.  However, he’d kept at it, and amidst the mess on his desk now laid a single sheet of paper, filled from top to bottom, signed Feliciano Vargas. He read over the letter once, twice more. He stared, eyes scanning, nearly unseeing, over the words he’d carved out there.  He’d found a hundred different ways to write the same thing.

Perhaps it wasn’t the contents of the letter that troubled him so, but the tremendous sense of finality that came with sending it.  There had been many times in Italy’s life when he had felt himself on the edge of some great threshold, knowing if he stepped through, there would be no turning back.  Standing at that barrier always left him dizzy. It left him wondering about the choices he’d made that had brought him to that point, wondering if they had been right, wondering about the alternatives.

Italy had seen the terrible price there was to pay for doing nothing.  He knew he couldn’t afford it again. All he had left was the hope that at whatever cost, the step he was about to take would result in something different than the loss of yet another of his loved ones to war.

He watched himself seal up the letter, scribble a name on the front of it, bind it to the pigeon’s leg.

Italy leaned out of an open window, holding the bird gently in his hands, knowing that once he let go, there would be nothing he could do to stop it from reaching its destination--that comforting sort of powerlessness that he knew so well.  There would be only the sun to guide it, the cool breeze to carry it home. It was a clear, beautiful day, after all. A lone cyclamen blossom bobbed beneath his window sill. 

He felt so far away.  There was nothing left but this, was there?  It was the right choice. For Ludwig, for Kiku, for Gilbert--they trusted him.  He would do what was right for them, for everyone. 

The bird leapt free the moment Italy’s fingers loosened.  A part of him wanted to chase after it, to take back the letter and burn it.  It didn’t matter what he wanted now, he supposed. He couldn’t take it back. He couldn’t take any of it back.  There was one path marked out before him, and it lead to Germany.

He set out, tasting different confessions on his tongue, different pleas, all of them bitter and lacking.  How could he say what he needed to say without losing everything? But, oh, wouldn’t he lose everything anyway?

Italy had always known, but was more sure now than ever before, that there was no such thing as victory in a war. 

Germany’s house came into view far sooner than it was meant to.  Italy stopped short of it, halted in his tracks to examine the home with which he’d lately found himself so familiar.  He was welcome there. He wondered how long that would last-- the letting himself in without having to knock, just as he did now, knowing Germany would be right where he left him, grinding away at his work behind his desk.  Grinding away at himself.

“Ludwig,” Italy murmured, leaning into Germany’s office.  “Ludwig, I need to talk to you.”

Sleepless eyes peered back at him, uncomprehending for the briefest of moments before the familiarity set in.  Then followed the reluctance. “I don’t have much time.”

“It’s about the war,” said Italy.  He knew Germany wouldn’t have a choice but to answer him, then.

Germany knew it, too.  The reluctance didn’t leave his face.  He reached up and pulled his reading glasses from his nose, folded them neatly on his desk, and waved Italy inside.  “What is it?”

Italy took his time crossing the room, leaning carefully against the wall.  He found himself halfway between Germany and that map that had haunted him for months.  The whole world seemed to be stuck through with red.

“I really don’t have much time, Feliciano,” Germany prompted him, quickly growing irritable.

Italy only watched the map as he said, “I don’t have much time, either.”  He felt Germany’s eyes piercing him through the silence. “A long time ago,” Italy began, “back when I was just a little kid, my grandpa used to let me swing me in his arms and tell me that one day, I’d be as strong as him.  I couldn’t imagine it, but he looked so happy when he said it, I wanted it to be true.”

“You said this was about the war.”

Italy let out a listless breath of laughter.  “Don’t worry, Lud,” he said, finally meeting Germany’s gaze.  “I’m getting there. Just listen.”

Very slowly, Germany leaned back in his chair.  Italy had his full attention, now.

“I used to hear people call him things like, ‘The Great Roman Empire’,” Italy continued.  “They respected him, probably feared him. Actually, I know they feared him. I think I might have been the only one who actually loved him, and it wasn’t for any of that stuff--the power, the fame--to me, he was just Grandpa Rome.”  Italy nodded to himself, eyes focussed somewhere far away. “I just called him Grandpa.” 

Through the pause, Germany cleared his throat and said, “He was a legend.  I’m sure he would be very proud of you for what we’re going to accomplish, if he were still here to see it.” 

“I’m sure he would,” Italy murmured.  Doubt welled up within him; Germany was missing the point.  Before he allowed his motivation to slip any further, he forced himself to start again.  “When I was a little older, I fell in love.”

Germany blinked at that.  “What was her name?”

“I don’t know.  He wouldn’t tell me.”  A clock ticked in another room.  “He liked people to call him Holy Roman Empire.  I just called him Holy Rome,” he said. “That was easier to say.”

“And, this--” Germany haltingly asked-- “this Holy Rome; Did he--Did he love you, too?” 

“I think he wanted to,” Italy sighed.  Even after all the centuries, he somehow always found fresh tears for this particular wound in his heart.  “We were really happy for a long time, and it felt like love. It felt like… He wanted to love me. He tried really hard to love me, but there was something else he loved more, and he died chasing after it.”

Germany watched him, an old ache blossoming in his chest.  “I’m sorry,” he said.

“Me too,” said Italy, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand.  “It was the same thing that killed my grandpa. Him, and Holy Rome, and…” he shook his head and clenched his jaw.  “They loved this ugly, terrible thing so much--” A mirthless laugh escaped his lips. “They loved it more than me, so much that they would abandon me for it over and over again, and it killed them.  It took them from this world, just like it does to anyone else who gets too close to it, and they never even saw it coming. Nobody expects it to kill them. Always someone else.” Worry and confusion darkened Germany’s brow, but Italy only shook his head again and said, “Do you know what the worst part is?” 

“I’m afraid I don’t,” Germany answered him. 

“Of course you don’t,” said Italy, looking Germany in the eye.  “You’re in love with it, too.”

“I don’t know what ‘it’ is!” Germany replied, bewildered, defensive.

“Yes, you do!” Italy insisted.  “You do, because it’s right here on your desk, and there on that map, and out there in those bloodsoaked fields you call home!”

“Feliciano, I’m telling you, I don’t understand!”

Italy shook his head, desperation clawing at his throat.  He closed his eyes. “Ludwig, I just need one thing from you,” he said.  “I need you to prove to me that you don’t love war more than you love me.”

A terrible silence filled the air until Germany spoke.  “You think,” he whispered, “that I love war?”

“Tell me I’m wrong.”

“You are!” Germany scoffed.  

“If you don’t love it, you worship it!” Italy shot back, slapping his hand on Germany’s desk.  “You’ve given your life here on this altar--”

“You’re talking nonsense!”

“--day after day, worshiping a god that wants nothing less than your soul!  You’re here breathing, but I know you aren’t living, Ludwig, and you haven’t for a long time.  And you tell yourself it’s for your people, for Gilbert--”

“It is!” Germany shouted, surging to his feet.

“--so he doesn’t fall to ruin, but I know the truth!” Italy exclaimed, meeting Germany’s steely gaze with equal fire.  “Bloodshed isn’t the only way to preserve your people, your brother, but only war gives you power. War is the only thing that turns you into an empire, and that’s what you want more than anything, isn’t it?”  Angry tears brimmed in his eyes. “Isn’t it?” He repeated. “You don’t want survival. Maybe you never did. You want conquest!”

Red faced, chest heaving, Germany glared back at him.  “If you think you know what I want,” he said in a harsh whisper, “it’s only fair that you tell me what you want.  What you came for.” Rage heightened his voice until he was nearly shouting. “You have my attention! I’m all ears, so tell me--because I can’t seem to figure it out--tell me what the god-forsaken point of this conversation has been this whole damned time!”

“My people are surrendering, Ludwig!”  The words hung in the air the moment they’d been let free, draining the color from both their faces.  Where Italy had only moments before towered over Germany’s desk, now he merely propped himself up with it.  “They’re surrendering, and so am I. I’m not going to help you fight this war, anymore.”

Germany searched Italy’s face, his own completely unreadable save for something deeply, truly wounded.  “Is that--Is this what you came to tell me?” 

“No,” said Italy with a weak shake of his head.  “I came to ask you--” He stopped, took a steadying breath, and peered up to meet Germany’s eyes.  “I’m begging you, Ludwig. Come with me. We can end this war, work something out,” he pleaded. “Together.  It’s only a matter of time before we lose, isn’t it? Hasn’t this war gone on long enough, Ludwig? Please,” he whispered, reaching with a trembling hand towards Germany’s heart.

He never touched it.

“You don’t leave me any choice,” Germany breathed.

Italy felt a hand clasp like iron around his wrist, and the next second, he was being pulled away, into the depths of Germany’s home.  “I can’t let you leave,” said Germany, his voice sickeningly calm. “Not when you’ve made yourself the enemy. I’m sure you understand that.”  Italy couldn’t find it within himself to resist as Germany whisked him down a flight of stairs, despite knowing exactly where they were headed.  “I can’t let you go running to our--my enemies. Not when I know what they’ll do to you. They’ll betray you, just like you’ve betrayed me.” Raw emotion was seeping through the cracks in his voice.  “Just like you’ve betrayed me, Japan, my brother, your people--”

“Ludwig, please, I didn’t mean to--”

“You don’t get to call me that,” Germany snapped, shoving Italy into a dark, empty room.  

The door slammed shut in the very same instant Italy felt his knees hit the floor.  He heard the lock click, and then, there in the absolute darkness, he found himself alone.

For the longest time, he wept.  The house above remained eerily quiet for some hours--at least, it had felt to Italy like hours--until a series of angry thumps and crashes filtered through the floor above him.  Italy curled in on himself, willing himself to be numb to the agony in Germany’s muffled shouts. The outburst lasted only a minute or two before the quiet of before settled back into place.  Italy took from it what little solace he could. 

Gradually, a different sort of noise began drifting down to his prison.  It was the gentle sliding of wood against wood, the shuffling of papers, the recollection of objects strewn aside in a moment of wrath.  Germany was putting himself, and his house, together again. 

A miserable, helpless sort of peace finally overtook Italy, and he closed his eyes to rest.

The hard concrete floor pressed cold against his face was the first thing Italy felt when he awoke.  For a moment, he was a little boy again, locked in the dungeon in Holy Rome’s house. Reality soon found him, though, and it was colder than the floor.  

He had no idea how much time had passed.  There were no windows, here, no light, except the small strip of it that had leaked in under the door.  There were odd shapes blocking it now, though, and Italy vaguely wondered if they had been there before.  He stared. One at a time, objects made themselves known through the shadows.

The first thing he discerned was a matchbox.  A longer object lay beside it, somewhat lumpy around the edges.  He wasn’t sure, but he hoped it was a candle. Next to those things loomed a shadow that was hulking and bulky in comparison.  It could have been a small boulder, for all Italy knew. It certainly looked lumpy enough to be one.

When Italy came to the conclusion that he had no idea what he was looking at, he did nothing.  He couldn’t find the motivation within himself to even sit up, let alone move across the room to investigate. He was so tired.  So cold. None of that compared to the crater in his heart where his hope used to be.

Germany had imprisoned him. 

Germany had refused to surrender.

Germany was too far gone.

A sharp pain stabbed through Italy, pinning him to the floor as though he were another conquest on Germany’s map.  There was no point in even trying to pull himself up off the ground.

Profound despair and regret slithered through his mind.  What had he hoped to accomplish? Germany wouldn’t turn back, no matter how Italy had delayed and distracted him.  Neither would Japan. He should have known that those who hungered for power would stop at nothing to get it. He should have helped them win.  Now, Germany stood on the verge of defeat, and Prussia would be crushed in the rubble.

Italy shook with the weight of it all, with the knowledge that all of it-- all the pain and despair and the blood that had been shed, the lives that had been lost, that would be lost--

\--It was all his fault.   

Italy might have laughed at the irony had there been a shred of strength left within him to do so.  The hardness of the ground hurt him, but he stayed there. It was too late for regret. It was too late for hope.

Italy had nothing left but his worthlessness.

Time slipped by without care or notice.  Italy’s mind was blank, nothing but static dread for hours as he idly listened to footsteps thud upstairs.  Germany was pacing again. Italy still hadn’t moved from the floor. He wondered if he would fall asleep again, but rest evaded him.  His whole being ached. 

Finally, something happened upstairs that made Italy push himself up to a sitting position.  He heard voices. Germany was talking to someone. Italy couldn’t make out the words, even as he strained his ears, but he recognized the second voice immediately.  Japan. After more muffled discussion, two sets of footsteps became clear, and as Italy listened, they grew steadily louder. They echoed down the stairs. Italy kept his eyes glued to the door as shadows danced in the light beneath it, didn’t move as the lock clicked, as the door creaked outward, as he was thrust into the shadow of one he had once called a friend. 

Germany stood guard behind Japan, arms crossed, face closed, but Japan himself wore a shattered mask of contempt.  Italy stared back with his own broken gaze. 

Neither of them moved.

Italy didn’t bother trying to speak, although he could feel half-formed pleas and excuses trembling in his gut.  Words could do nothing except damn him further. Gone from Japan’s eyes was any semblance of trust or mercy. They bored into Italy, judging, ancient, tired.

For a brief moment, Italy wondered which of them was wearier.

He wondered if Japan meant to kill him.  There was enough ice in his gaze to wrest the sword from his hip.  Italy wondered if Germany would let it happen. He wondered if he would even fight back.

He supposed not. 

The staring continued for such a long time that Italy began to wonder, too, if he might be having a strange hallucination, brought on by the dark and his fears.  Japan hadn’t moved. At his feet, there were those objects Italy had seen earlier: a matchbox, a candlestick, a blanket, a bible. A prisoner’s luxuries. They only made Italy more numb.

Germany wasn’t blinking—nor, did it seem, was he seeing anything in particular.  There was an odd silence in the air. Yes, Italy decided. He was seeing things. None of this was real.  Any moment, he would wake up safe in his home, pen in hand, an unfinished letter on his desk.

What a kind delusion that was. 

Japan’s face was empty as he spoke.

“You disgust me, Italy.”

The last thing Italy saw before his vision blurred over was Germany stepping towards him as Japan at last looked away.  He didn’t understand what Germany was doing, crouching down in front of him, reaching out to him. Then, the necklace he had so grown to treasure was ripped from his neck, and all was clear.

Germany dropped the cross at Italy’s feet as though it had never meant anything at all, and he locked the door behind him when he left with Japan.  Italy was truly, utterly alone.

He wanted to scream, to vomit, to beg their forgiveness, to pound his fists on the door until he bled.  He did none of these things. He lacked the strength. All that he had left in him were tears, and even those were leaving him steadily as he wept quietly there on the dusty floor.

Time escaped him.  Hours melded into seconds.  Minutes stretched for days. He couldn’t know how long he had cried, but when he had run out of tears, it left him weak, hollow, numb.  Eventually, he felt himself slide across the floor to collect the objects that had been placed there for him. With stiff fingers, he found the matchbox, and when he opened it, several matches fell out.  That didn’t matter much. He picked one and lit it. The light hurt his eyes, worsened his headache.

He thought about blowing it out then and there, but something inside him made him pick up the candle instead.  When he had lit the wick, he shook out the match, tossed it to the side, and carefully set the candle on the floor.  

He looked around.  It was the same room he remembered from the last time he had been imprisoned under Germany’s roof.  That felt like a lifetime ago. They had been enemies then.

The cross glinted from the floor where Germany had dropped it.

Italy guessed they were enemies again, just like that.  He wondered if there was any coming back from that.

He picked up the cross and dropped it into his pocket.  He didn’t know why. It could only hurt him more.

Part of Italy wanted to hurt.

The larger part of him didn’t.  He picked up the blanket and the bible that lay on top of it, picked up himself from the floor, and carried himself to the long wooden bench stretched across the back of the room.  It had been there for decades. There were still patterns he had scratched in it with his fingernails in boredom, all those years ago. Things had been so different, then. So different, and exactly the same.  

Italy opened the bible and stared at the words.  On another day, he might have laughed. It was in German.  That didn’t matter to Italy. He had the whole thing memorized, anyway.  Perfection, then turmoil, and then, at last, perfection restored.

To pass the hours, he tried to find familiar words in the unfamiliar script laid before him, teaching himself fragments of German.  When he wanted to sleep, he used the book as a pillow. He prayed. He read some more. He didn’t cry, and that surprised him.

He assumed it had been about a day when Germany finally came to visit him again.  The stench of alcohol was about him, but he wasn’t drunk.

“Answer one question for me,” he said, looking through Italy.  “Do that, and I’ll bring you some food.”

Slowly, Italy nodded.

“How long have you been working against us?”

Italy said nothing.

“It wasn’t hard to see, looking back,” Germany told him, distant.  “Greece. Egypt. France. Every time you called for help--that was all just a distraction, wasn’t it?”  When Italy still said nothing, he scoffed and turned on his heel.

“I’ve never been your ally.”

Germany halted, his back turned, listening.

“I’ve never been your ally,” Italy repeated.  “I never wanted to fight this war. And when I realized that winning it would mean losing you, like I lost them--” His voice broke there, and he took a shuddery breath to put it back together.  “I’ve never been your ally, but I’ve always been your friend.” 

Germany stood there, letting his shoulders rise and fall with the effort it was taking him to control his breathing.  He left without saying a word. Italy buried his face in his hands and felt very, very sick.

He was nearly surprised when Germany returned with a tray of food a while later.  Still, neither of them spoke. Germany repeated this process several times over the next few days.  Italy couldn’t eat much at all. He wanted to ask what day it was, if his people had gone through with surrendering yet.

When Germany brought him his sixth meal, he finally found the courage to speak.

“Thank you for the food.”

Germany stared at him before saying, “Even traitors deserve to eat.”

The words stung Italy, but he pushed through them.  “What day is it?”

Frowning, Germany set down the food tray next to Italy and picked up the empty one from the previous meal.  “You’ve been here three days,” he said, turning to go. “You’ll be relocated tomorrow. Don’t ask me where. I’ll be back in an hour to escort you upstairs for--” he paused, then, and cast his eyes upward.

“For what?” Italy tiredly prompted him, but Germany gestured for him to be quiet.

Then, Italy heard it. There was a knock, and then a thud, and then a crash.  Germany swore and drew his gun. The sound of boots raced towards them. From his position, Italy couldn’t see up the stairs, but he heard two sets of feet on them, and then--

“Where is he?”

“We’ll shoot!”

“So will I!” said Germany, cocking his gun at England and France.  “What are you doing here?”

“We’re rescuing Italy from you!” France declared, fire in his voice.  “We know you have him. You have no right to keep him here!”

“It’s two against one,” said England, keeping his pistol level.  “Give him to us, and nobody gets hurt.”

For a few tense heartbeats, all of them stood frozen, tense.  Finally, Germany said, “Lower your guns, and I’ll send him right out.”

England scoffed at the offer.  “Do you take us for fools? Why would we possibly believe--”

“He’s worthless to me,” Germany cooly interrupted him.  Italy grit his teeth against the pain. “Lower your guns.  I won’t ask again.” Italy figured that France and England must have complied, because the next moment, Germany simply ordered, “Italy.  Out.”

Carefully, shakily, Italy crossed the floor and stepped into freedom.

France and England were poised with their guns aimed at the floor, perched on the staircase, and Germany kept his gun and his eyes trained on them, even as Italy said, “It doesn’t have to be like this.”

Disgust twisted Germany’s face into a scowl.  “Get out of my sight,” he spat. “All of you.”

“Lud--”

“Now!”

Italy flinched and staggered away, somehow finding himself in France’s arms.

“Get him out of here,” said England, not taking his eyes off Germany.  “I’ll watch your back.” 

Italy leaned heavily against France the whole way out of the house, his feet like granite.  Germany escorted them, not once lowering his weapon. When they finally stepped out into the starless, moonless night, England summoned a path for them, and both Germany and his gun shimmered out of sight.

“It’s a good thing you sent that letter,” France soothed Italy, rubbing a hand up and down his arm as they walked.  Italy barely heard him. “When you didn’t show up when you said you would, I just knew something was wrong--But you did the right thing, joining our side.  I’m sure you know that. You look awful,” he continued, clicking his tongue. “We’ll get some color back in those cheeks, don’t you worry.”

“Is my brother alright?” Italy said.  His voice was was nearly carried off by the breeze.  “Is he still with Spain?” 

“He’s fine,” England sighed, nodding.  “It’s a good thing he left, too, otherwise we might have had to go rescuing him from Germany or Japan, just like you.”  He crossed his arms and said, “It would have saved us quite a lot of trouble if you’d done the same. Really, you should have run away, sent Germany a letter explaining things or something.  What were you thinking?”

“I don’t--” Italy choked out.  “I don’t know, I just-- I just thought, that if I…”  He tried to keep speaking, but his words were very soon drowned out by a fresh wave of tears.

“Oh, Italy,” France sighed, pulling him into a tight embrace.  “The people we trust have the most power to hurt us, don’t they?  And you,” he said, letting Italy sob onto his shoulder. “You have always trusted so easily.  It takes a soft heart to let your trust be broken.”

Italy sobbed all the harder, sure that he was the most wretched man in the world. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cyclamen is a symbol of goodbye, of resignation--essentially a breakup flower.  
> Parts of this chapter have been sitting in a Google doc for over two years with the working title, "Chapter Make Italy Suffer", if that explains anything.  
> Italy surrendered on September 3, 1943, and on September 8, Germans began their occupation of Italy. Rome wasn't officially liberated until June 5, 1944. Obviously, I couldn't have dear Feli rotting in the basement for that long, so I took a few liberties with the timing of his rescue.  
> To anyone traveling or celebrating this week, stay safe! I'll be travelling, myself, so the next chapter might be a little later than usual. We'll see about that.  
> Love,  
> Jay
> 
> This was one of the first things we wrote for this fic, unaware that it would be located in freaking chapter 29. Naturally, it went through a lot of changes to mesh with the rest of what happened, haha. I've been super busy lately, but I managed to get a job interview for a real people adult job as a bilingual teacher! That just makes me realize that I have to make decisions about my future very soon. Oh boy.  
> On a different note, I have officially written about three paragraphs of the fluffy FACE Family Christmas chapter, and lord knows that after this feels trip we all need something lighter so I'll get to work on that.  
> Best wishes and have a great week!  
> ~Kai


	30. Life is Full of Painful Things

He wasn’t allowed to leave-- not that England or France ever said so directly.  Not that he had the desire or the motivation to get out of bed, most days. When he wasn’t being watched, or being prodded into answering questions, Italy spent the better part of his days holed up in one of England’s spare rooms, barely speaking, hardly eating.

You’re withering away, France would tell him.

You look worse than me, Italy would reply.  It had been true, at least for the first few weeks.  France lived in a cloud of fatigue and pain, and it showed on his skin.  But then, Italy had grown so pale, his breathing so sickly shallow, that France’s affliction began to resemble health.

Italy couldn’t tell if it was his guilt or the war sapping away at his strength like a gluttonous leech.  His soul was being cleaved in two, and he couldn’t determine whether his scruples were prying it apart, or if it was instead the turmoil of his people that was tearing him apart inside.  Whatever the case, whatever the cause, the dilemma was the same. His heart believed just as deeply that he had done what was best for his friends as it did that he had done something entirely wretched.  His heart, above all, was at war with itself. It left Italy lifeless.

It was easy to blame his sickness on the war.  His home was being occupied, after all, and the nations with which he had sided simply refused to let him rest.  They assured him it wasn’t an interrogation. They only had some questions for him. China and Russia wanted to know if he’d gotten any insight about the invasions Japan may have had planned for the future.  The others were far more interested in Germany. Over and over, the same questions, the same answers. Italy knew nothing. Any little piece of information would help, they would insist. Germany’s getting weaker, they would say.

It was true.

As desperately as Germany wanted to lose himself in his duty, words slipped past his eyes as he failed time after time to focus on even a single document--and with the loss of an ally, plenty had been made for him.

But he hadn’t had an ally, he reminded himself for the hundredth time.  He had never had an ally, and he had no use for friends. 

It would be better this way, Japan had told him, now that they had gotten rid of the rat among their ranks.  They didn’t need Italy. They shouldn’t want him, either. He didn’t acknowledge that Italy had been the one keeping Germany and himself together, didn’t acknowledge, even to himself, the pain of betrayal boring into his back.  There was no need to say any of this to Germany. 

After all, if Germany had been an adequate leader, Italy would never have left them.

He never said that, of course, but Germany nevertheless got the message.

The two of them didn’t meet in person very much after that.  There was no point. There was no time. For Japan to make the journey for anything more than the most official of meetings, anything less than the most sensitive information, would be superfluous.  For Germany to visit Japan was impossible. He had his dying brother to care for, after all.

That particular worry haunted Italy’s nightmares the most.  In his fitful sleep, Italy would dream of Prussia cursing him with his dying breath, and he would wake up knowing that Prussia would have every right to do so, should the war take his life.  Germany would blame Italy, too, he was sure. Italy had come to accept certain facts, over the months. Prussia hated him, and so did Japan. He knew this. Germany loathed him most of all. Italy doubted, though, that any of their contempt could match the fervor with which he hated himself.  

But Germany didn’t want to hate Italy.  That was far more attention than he deserved.  He wanted, more than anything, to forget about him.  He wanted to put him out of his loneliest thoughts, to stop expecting his voice on the phone when it rang.  Letting Italy further distract him from his duties would be letting him win. Italy had never done him or his brother any good.  But Feliciano--

There was a part of Germany missing, a wrench in his cogs.  There was no place in this war for Italy, let alone Feliciano, and Germany had been a fool to indulge in the fantasy that nations had any use for hearts.  

Hearts were too easily manipulated to be trusted, Italy had learned.  He had let his heart decide his actions, and now he had no other choice but to watch from a distance as those he had only ever wanted to protect fell to ruin.  

There was one piece of knowledge that was a bitter balm to his aching spirit.   Germany and Japan would lose the war. Even if they would never forgive him for it, even if they would never be the same, Italy had accomplished that one thing: Ludwig and Kiku would survive.  That was the knowledge that pulled him through the months of solitude.

Still, that wasn’t enough to get him out of bed every day.  His shame and the occupation of his land had melded together to become an insurmountable weight on his chest.  He thanked Romano every day for negotiating with the Allies when he couldn’t, even though he knew his brother felt just as sick.  Romano represented them both while Italy nursed his broken heart, and it wasn’t fair, but for months, it was what worked. Italy offered to take on tasks for which he lacked the strength.  Romano sent him back to bed. The two of them only got sicker, and there came a time when neither of them could pull themselves out of bed. For a long while, they watched together in a feverish haze as the war happened around them.

Their land was not occupied forever, though, and their bodies did recover.  Their people had been freed, and they needed to be with them.

They weren’t allowed to go home.

It was too much of a risk, or so they were told.  Germany was still out there. So was Japan. Nobody ever said it was because they feared that one of them would go running back.

In the subdued quiet of the final hours of his war, Germany idly dreamed of all the ways Italy could come back to him.  Italy could come to mock him, though he had never been the kind to jeer, to tell him he’d told him so--and he had told him so.  Germany simply hadn’t wanted to listen. Italy could come to rescue him, for once, come to his side to pull him out from under the weight of the world about to come crashing down on him, all the conquests he had stacked so high finally buckling under their own weight, finally toppling over in a heap of failure.

The rubble had already begun to fall, and he had no friends left to even dig out his body when the dust settled.  He didn’t even have a Boss, now.

If for nothing else, he could rejoice for that.

When it came time that his enemies came knocking down his door to take him and his brother away, he didn’t resist.  He only asked for one simple favor.

With Germany captured and Japan cornered, Italy and Romano were allowed to go home for the first time in over a year.  That day, they folded themselves together on Italy’s dusty sitting room floor and wept, heedless of the guards stationed right outside the door.  The war was nearly over. How either of them felt about that, they didn’t have a clue. It was far too much.

Nobody would tell them where Germany and Prussia were being held, or even if they were alright.  Italy didn’t expect they were alright. He expected, however, that they were safe. Yes, the war was nearly over.  Surely Japan’s surrender would come in a matter of days.

But it didn’t.  Italy knew that offers had been made for Japan’s surrender, but still, it didn’t come.  Months passed, and Japan continued to endure the war in complete isolation.

Unconditional surrender-- that was too steep a price.  Japan was under no illusion that the war could be won. So much had already been lost.  All he wanted to keep was his dignity--or was it his pride? It didn’t matter. He might have been convinced to surrender much sooner, had his Boss allowed it.  Regardless, he had a point to prove. There was a reason he fought, he was sure of it, even if at times he couldn’t remember what it was. He told himself it was his duty to his people.  He couldn’t give up. Even when others abandoned their causes, their people, he could not. It didn’t matter that the whole world had become his enemy.

He wondered if he had always been fighting alone.

When the day came that his perseverance outlasted the war, he couldn’t find it within himself to be relieved.  He had kept his pride. He had outlasted even the ones he had called allies. Even when his Boss had surrendered, he hadn’t, not in his heart.

None of that mattered to his enemies.  They had given him an ultimatum: he might spend a few days fulfilling the last of his duties to his nation, but then, he would be taken away to face the consequences of his decisions at the feet of his enemies.  He suspected his own fate could be no worse than that which had been thrust upon his former allies, although he had not yet heard what those were.

Their fates, however,  were not in the hands of beings like them.  It was always humans who decided these things, whether or not they fully understood the ramifications of their decisions, whether or not they even cared.  Nevertheless, when the day came that the dissolution of Prussia was announced, it gave even the bitterest nations pause. It reminded them that they were not as immortal as they were sometimes prone to feeling.  As much as they loved their people, many of them could not love humanity, for much of humanity lived in ignorance or apathy to the pain they caused.

Nations were few, their families, precious.  To dissolve a nation, to rip apart a family-- it was an unspeakable thing.

They were powerless but to adhere to the whims of the masses.  It had been decided that Germany should inherit the remnants of his brother’s land, only to have it carved up and divided amongst those he had battled--those he would be made to serve.  He would be a prisoner in his own house until the others thought he could be trusted again, while his brother would be sent to live with Russia to live out his dissolution. Nobody expected he would return.  This was beyond their control.

But Germany had asked them a favor.

The pub was blissfully quiet.  England had chosen a slow pub at a slower hour for fear that the patrons might assault Germany and Prussia on sight.  There was only a sparse handful of people that night, however, and England and America made themselves comfortable two tables over from Germany and Prussia, making no effort to hide the fact that they were keeping watch.  They had given the brothers two beers and one hour between them. Neither of these were sufficient, but Germany supposed it satisfied the favor he had asked.

He needed to say goodbye.

There was so much that he needed to say, so much longer that he needed to say it, that in struggling to choose a starting point, he couldn’t say anything at all.  A radio tittered the weather report from a corner. Somewhere else, a glass clinked. 

His brother had to break the silence for him.  “Well,” Prussia rasped, “That whole war probably could have gone better.” 

Germany barked out a rough, dismal laugh and shook his head.  “I did everything I could think to do,” he said. “I followed every order.  It still wasn’t enough.”

“I think you’ll live, though.”

Germany narrowed his eyes at Prussia.  “That isn’t funny, Gilbert.”

“God, don’t I know it.”  Prussia took a long drink before coughing some of it back up.  He wheezed out a sigh. “They’re going to burn down my house.” A thick pause sounded between them as Germany attempted to process this information.  “All the valuable stuff--I guess they’re going to fight over it, but the rest…” He shook his head and forced out a laugh. “It’s kind of a good thing.”  When Germany only answered him with an incredulous stare, he added, “Nobody gets to read all the embarrassing stuff that’s in my old diaries.”

Germany stared into his drink and willed time to slow down for just a little while.  “None of this is right,” he whispered. “It should be me. They should have picked my country to abolish.  You shouldn’t be--”

“Ludwig.”  Prussia hadn’t seen his brother look quite so young, quite so afraid, in decades.  “I raised you to be strong, didn’t I?” said Prussia, calm as a cemetery in spring. “You don’t need me, anymore.”

Germany damned the first tear to roll down his cheek.  “I’ve always needed you,” he croaked. “You’ve been the only one I could ever depend on, or ever trust--”

“That’s not true.”  Prussia’s own eyes were shining, but he kept his composure.

“It is,” Germany insisted.  “Nobody else has ever really cared for me.”

Prussia only rolled his eyes and said, “You’re completely hopeless.” 

“Gil--”

“I am not the only person in this world who has ever loved you, Ludwig,” said Prussia, gripping his brother’s shoulder, looking him in the eye.  “Do you understand? There are other people you can trust to have your best interest in mind.” 

There was a tired desperation on Germany’s breath when he said, “You can’t be talking about--”

“--Feliciano.” 

They stared at each other for a long second before Germany shrugged back from his brother’s grip and said, “You think he has ever had my best interest in mind?  He abandoned me.” 

“You know what, West?” Prussia countered.  “I think you abandoned him, first.” Germany opened his mouth to speak, but Prussia wouldn’t be stopped.  “You told me how it happened, the things he said to you. He’s seen you change, just like I have, and I think he was trying to save you.”

“It’s his fault we’re in this mess!” Germany hissed, infuriated.

“If he hadn’t surrendered,” Prussia evenly told him, “he would be right here in this mess with us, and he’d be smiling about it, too.”  Prussia had to stop and catch his breath before he could say more. “We were never going to win this war, and even if we had--” He shook his head.  “I wanted us to win this. God knows I would love to wake up tomorrow and it not hurt to breathe. Maybe I was selfish, that way.”

“You’re not selfish,” Germany quietly retorted.

“How many times have I told you not to interrupt me while I’m lecturing you, little brother?” Prussia chastised him.  “Just listen. I saw the hunger in you, but I didn’t try to stop you because I thought that if we could win this war, it would save me.  But Feliciano was right. Empires collapse. I’ve seen it myself. They only get more greedy, and then they fall apart, and the stuff in between isn’t pretty.  So, yeah. I was selfish. Feli did for you what I couldn’t, and that was to try to protect you.”

The trueness of Prussia’s words was apparent to Germany, but that didn’t make it any easier to accept them.  “Whatever he was trying to do,” Germany began, voice low, “there’s no way he’ll ever want anything to do with me again.  Even if he did care for me like you say he did, he doesn’t anymore. He’s gone, now.”

“Go and get him, then.”

Germany stared, uncomprehending.

“Oh, don’t give me that look,” Prussia scoffed.  “This isn’t the first time you two have been enemies.  Hell, it wasn’t even the first time he’s been in one of your prisons, and he still managed to like you after that.”

“Things were different, then,” Germany argued. 

“Sure, you’re right,” said Prussia.  “He liked you less, before.” 

Germany let out an exasperated huff and said, “So you think I can just go to him and, what, apologize?  And things will go back to how they were before? That’s likely.”

“And how were they before, in your opinion?” Prussia asked him.

“Better than this,” Germany huffed.

“I was hoping for a little more detail than that, West.”

“Fine,” said Germany, scowling.  “Fine. It was… nice.”

“Nice how?” Prussia prompted him.

“I don’t know!  He kept interrupting my schedules with-- with football, and cooking, and helping me draw.  Nothing was ever simple with him. It was never just spending the night, it was a sleepover.  It couldn’t be just a walk home. It was flower-picking. It was birdwatching. Stargazing, cloud watching-- it was never just point A to point B anymore.  He made things complicated in ways that I never considered before, and it frustrated me to no end.”

“And that was nice,” Prussia reminded him, a knowing smile playing at his lips. 

“No,” said Germany.  “Yes. I don’t-- I don’t know.”

“Then let me help you out,” said Prussia after a pause.  “It’ll only cost you a beer.” When Germany unenthusiastically slid the rest of his beer across the table, Prussia huffed a laugh and rasped, “That’s how you’re repaying me?  Shitty English beer?” 

“Gilbert.”

“Whatever, keep the beer,” said Prussia, waving him off.  “Just listen to me very, very closely. This is important.  Are you listening?” When Germany’s scowl deepened, Prussia continued.  “Okay, okay, here it is: You love Feli as much as he loves you.” 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Germany huffed.

“Primarily, that you’re both idiots,” Prussia told him.  “But more importantly, it means that you’re going to have some patching up to do when you and him see each other again.”

“And what makes you think we’ll ever patch things up?” Germany hopelessly asked.

There was not a hint of kidding in Prussia’s face when he answered, “Because it’s the last thing I’m going to ask of you before I go.”

“Then you’re asking the impossible of me,” said Germany. 

“I’m not changing my mind.”

“I didn’t think you’d be so cruel.”

“Promise me you’ll at least think about what I’ve said.” 

Germany looked away as he said, “You say that like I won’t be replaying this conversation in my head for the rest of my life.”

Prussia sighed, long and pained.  “Ludwig. You are more than capable of doing life on your own.  All I’m asking is that you choose not to.”

“Then why Feli?” Germany begged.  “Why him, of all people?”

“He would die for you, and you know it,” said Prussia.  “Don’t throw that away. I know you probably don’t know how you feel about him right now, but the war’s over.  Let your heart do some thinking for once. Promise me.”

“You’re asking too much of me,” Germany sighed.  He shook his head. “I’ll try. That’s all I can promise you.”

The relief on Prussia’s face was tangible.  “Fine,” he said, nodding. “That’s all I need.  Now, I think we have about…” He glanced at his watch.  “Thirty-five minutes left. Perfect. Remember that story I told you when you were younger, about the time me and Old Fritz snuck into Austria’s house?  I never told you the real ending.”

“You said you’d tell me when I was older,” said Germany, a nostalgic smile lifting the corner of his mouth.

“Congratulations, you’re older,” said Prussia, grinning at him.  “The story’s not over yet. The ending I gave you was fine, I guess, but the real one is so much better.”

***

France found Italy sitting on his balcony, lost in thought, just as he’d expected to find him.  Calmly, he joined Italy by the railing. “I won’t ask why you’re not celebrating,” said France. Although there was a full-blown party happening in his house, the ruckus was only a murmur on the breeze from out there on the balcony.  “We did save some champagne for you, if you wanted it.”

“Thanks,” said Italy, not bothering to look up at him.  “I don’t want it.”

France hummed and surveyed his city for a while before he said, “Aren’t you at least glad it’s over?”

“I want to be,” said Italy.  “Not being at war is better than being at war, you know?  I just… this isn’t how I thought things would turn out.”

“Nobody can predict the future,” France reminded him.  “The choices we make must all lead somewhere, and more often than not, we don’t know where any road ends.  We can only guess.”

Italy stood, then, and joined France to lean against the railing.  “Maybe I’d be happier right now if I knew that everything we’ve been through had some… some point.  Some meaning.” He let out a puff of breath as a flock of pigeons fluttered past. “Why do we do this to ourselves?”

“I’ve been asking myself that question, too,” said France, sighing, tilting his face up to the sky.  “Some part of me has always wondered what the point of even living was. I don’t know if it’s the answer you need, but I’ve found some truths, if you will.”  Italy looked to the sky, then, too, and listened. “Life is full of painful things,” said France. “Death. Heartache. Disease. War. There’s no escaping that much.  People like you and me know that just as well as anyone, don’t we?”

“It seems like the longer you live, the more painful life gets,” Italy solemnly agreed.

“It does,” said France, nodding.  “That it does. But it also gets more beautiful, does it not?  There is so much beauty in this world. I never tire of watching the sun set over my city, even if it has seen better days.  Sometimes, I’ll see a young girl crying on the street, and I’ll offer her a rose to lift her spirits. Flattery is a magical thing,” he teased, glancing over at Italy.  “When she smiles again, it’s all the more precious-- just like you’re smiling now, even though you’re sad.”

“I guess I am smiling, huh?” said Italy, the ghost of his good cheer finally returning to his cheeks.  “And you didn’t even have to flatter me.”

“You’re not a young girl,” France teased him.  “Life is full of sadness,” he continued, “but it’s also full of smiles.  It’s full of beautiful things-- the sunset, laughter, good food, a lover’s touch--” he gestured vaguely to a garden far below--“Flowers.  The beautiful things are what carry all the meaning in this life, don’t you agree? And being able to seek out beautiful things, even in the middle of horrible things-- you’ve always had that talent.  It is a wonderful skill.” Italy smiled faintly at the praise, but France shook his head. “Sometimes, though, I think you look for beauty where there is none, and it leaves you disappointed.”

“What do you mean?” Italy asked.

“There are a few truths I’ve found, my friend, and I think I have one that will do you great good, if you care to remember it for times such as this,” said France.  “Flowers don’t grow on battlefields, but no battle lasts forever. Life grew there before, and when the battle is over, the flowers always find a way to grow again, even from within the most trampled soil.”  He allowed Italy to ponder his words only a moment before he patted him on the back and turned to go inside. “Keep looking for beauty, Feliciano,” he said, already slipping through the door. “Just make sure you’re looking in the right places.”

Italy made no move to follow him inside.  Instead, he turned back to the railing to watch the sun set, knowing that when he saw it again, it would have dawned on a different day, and he would see it with fresh eyes.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so ends part one!   
> The dissolution of Prussia didn't actually happen officially until the summer of 1947, and we're sitting in fall of 1945 as of the end of this chapter. For the sake of drama, certain historical events have been rearranged.   
> Thank you to everyone who took the survey! It seems like Friday, November 30 at 8:00PM CST seems like it would work for the most people, so politely meet here >>> https://invite.twitch.tv/kEBGlQ at that time (or before, I mean, it's open to all of you lovely people whenever you want it) and we'll get things sorted from there. Gather in the voice chat so that we may speak to the masses. It'll be great. Real casual thing.   
> All of you are wonderful. We might take a little extra time between this chapter and the next one, just to iron out a few details before we start publishing again. As always, if you have any questions, don't be afraid to ask. Bless you all.


	31. Preview

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The following is a preview of part 2, which will be posted as a separate fic titled "No Battle Lasts Forever". Think of it like a continuation, because if we're honest, 100k words is a little intimidating, and this arc is essentially complete. The story picks up right where we left off. If you have trouble finding part 2, let us know! You've all been such awesome readers, and I can't wait to see where this story takes us next.  
> See you there!  
> Jay  
> (Note: It might take me a hot minute to get part 2 posted, so don't panic if you don't see it immediately. Thanks!)

There had been talk of a bomb.  Horrible rumors about what it had done spread like shockwaves from the epicenter.  China couldn’t know what had happened, truly, except that lately, he had felt sickness coming up on him like a wave.

Perhaps it was a few days early to arrest Japan, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t check in on him.  

The air was wrong. The ocean curdled around the edges of the path at China’s feet.  Even the jagged trees of Japan’s garden cried out like skeletons pressed against the shrouded sky.  

How wrong it was that Japan’s door should stand open with nobody around to watch it-- how unnatural that no barking greeted China when he stepped inside.  Wind hummed to him from the depths of a corridor, idly flipping the pages of a book that had been left open on a table. He followed where it beckoned. Beside the book, he found a cup of tea.  Full. Untouched. Cold. 

How wrong it all was.


End file.
